


Imperium In Imperio

by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke Secret Santa, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Hogwarts!au, Quidditch Captain!Bellamy, Transfer Student!Clarke, fluff with mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 01:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17070791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasetheWindTouchtheSky/pseuds/ChasetheWindTouchtheSky
Summary: It’s Bellamy’s final year at Hogwarts and everything’s falling into place. He pulls decent grades, he’s Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and all that’s left is graduating.Except when a mid-year transfer from Beauxbaton arrives, Bellamy finds himself at odds with his new Potions partner, Clarke Griffin. She’s bossy, obnoxious, and worst of all, a Slytherin. She complicates his perfect, final year in every way by challenging him every opportunity she gets. He doesn’t try and find excuses to argue with her, he really doesn’t. He also doesn’t think about her all the time, he swears he doesn’t. Really.What a nightmare.





	Imperium In Imperio

**Author's Note:**

> My dear @shesomething,
> 
> Happy Christmas! I was so excited to receive your prompts for the Bellarke Secret Santa and after sending you a couple messages, I’ve decided on the following: Enemies to Friends to Lovers Hogwarts AU! I got a little carried away (like usual), but I hope you like it!
> 
> ‘Imperium in Imperio’ translates to ‘An Empire Within an Empire.’ This Hogwarts AU takes place after Harry Potter has left, so Professor McGonagall is Headmaster and things have relatively returned to normal. And since it wouldn’t be possible to keep their ages as they are in The 100, Bellamy is a 7th year and Clarke is a 6th year.

IMPERIUM IN IMPERIO

 

The day the exchange student arrives, no one can talk about anything else. Usually Bellamy wouldn’t pay any attention to school gossip, but he couldn’t avoid it. They spoke about it in Transfiguration class, in the Dining Hall, and the Gryffindor Common Room buzzed as if it were some sort of celebrity. By the end of the day, Bellamy was a little curious himself despite the amount of times he’s told Miller to shut up about it.

 

The thing is, transfers are rare in themselves and mid-year transfers are even more unheard of. For the amount of talking people are doing, there isn’t a ton of information. The only thing he knows is that it’s a girl from Beauxbatons and she’s a sixth year.

 

“May I have everyone’s attention?” Professor McGonagall stands up at the end of the Dining Hall, tapping on her glass. The chatter echoing in the hall slowly dims, Bellamy turning from Miller, who is mid-story about having a potion explode on him earlier in the day. “As you all must know by now, we have a transfer student arriving this evening and will be performing a very quick Sorting Ceremony to choose her placement. Clarke Griffin, if you may?”

 

Professor McGonagall gestures to the back of the room and if whoever Clarke Griffin was hoping for a subtle entrance, she is not getting it. A figure, who was clearly more than content to be sitting at the edge of the Hufflepuff bench and staying out of sight, stands. All heads follow in her direction when she makes her way through the rows of benches, the candlelight giving her an ethereal glow as she passes.

 

Bellamy tries not to stare too much, but finds that it’s challenging. Clarke strides down the Dining Hall, her gaze focused ahead, stopping before the stool that holds the Sorting Hat. There’s something striking about her as she moves past, determined, yet graceful. Bellamy looks down at his food when people start whispering, the comments growing. It’s the case when anyone is on display, but Clarke has a way with making people stare. Making _him_ stare.

 

“Please take a seat.” Professor McGonagall says, gesturing to the stool.

 

Clarke turns, her skirt twirling and folding neatly in her lap. She faces the entire school, her eyes fixed ahead.

 

He can’t help it, he’s staring with the rest of them. “Oh man, please be Gryffindor.” Someone says a few seats down. “If there’s anything good in this world, she will get sorted into Gryffindor.”

 

“Don’t be gross, Paul.”

 

“Am I wrong?”

 

“Shut up,” Bellamy growls and Paul shuts his mouth at the snap. Miller snorts at his side, causing him to smirk. Sure, he pretends not to care, but he does enjoy that everyone tends to do what he snaps at them.

 

The Sorting Hat is set atop her head and it moves around. It’s moments like these that Bellamy wishes he could hear what the hat was saying to her. Against his better judgment, he focuses all his attention on the girl, even setting his fork down to wait. Her eyes are closed as the hat speaks to her, blocking out everyone who is so eagerly awaiting the answer. The hat stops moving and her eyes flash open, searching around the room until they fall on him.

 

Bellamy feels exposed in this moment, but unable to take his gaze away. He tells himself she’s merely looking past him, but he _feels_ like her gaze in on him. She has piercing blue eyes unlike anything he’s seen and a part of him is annoyed at how distracted he feels in this moment.

 

_“Slytherin!”_

 

Then the magic is shattered.

 

The Slytherin table erupts in applause, all the others waving the announcement aside. “What a waste,” someone mutters a few spaces down from where Bellamy is.

 

“Yeah, why does Slytherin get the hot one? No fucking justice in this world, man. Wasted on that lot.”

 

Miller leans into Bellamy. “I may not be into chicks, but you are staring a lot. I know Gina broke up with you, like a few weeks ago, but I haven’t seen you stare at anyone like that in a while.”

 

Bellamy coughs, picking up his fork again. “What else are we gonna do for entertainment?” He can’t help but try to sneak a peek at the girl, which doesn’t get past Miller. He smirks at his side, giving Bellamy no other option but to slug him in the arm. “God, stop.”

 

“I didn’t say a single word.”

 

“You didn’t have to.” Clarke sits down next to someone, seconds later laughing at whatever they have to say and Bellamy groans. “Oh god, she’s sitting next to Murphy. And she’s _laughing_ at Murphy. Okay, nevermind. She may be cute, but even I have standards.”

 

“She’s pretty when she smiles,” Miller offers, craning his neck.

 

“You literally just established you aren’t into women.”

 

“Don’t mean I don’t have eyes.” Miller states.

 

Running his hands through his hair, Bellamy sighs, “Can we please go to any other conversation?”

 

“Hey Big Bro,” Octavia calls, running over to where he is and sliding onto the bench and nearly knocking the pumpkin juice out of his hands. “Did I miss it?”

 

Flicking his hands that are now wet with his juice, Bellamy scowls, “Is there a reason you’re so late?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And it is?”

 

“I left late.” Octavia says, reaching out in front of her to grab whatever trays still have food on them and haven’t been magicked away. Ripping off a bite of a roll with her teeth, she says past the bread, “So, did it happen?”

 

“You know, every time you do this, people are going to think I helped raise a feral dog.”

 

“Sorry, bro, they do already.” Miller offers. “How’s it going, Octavia?”

 

She responds by attempting to add a bite of roast in her mouth simultaneously. Bellamy does his best to not find it endearing and fails. “Professor McGonagall says that she had hoped me becoming a beater would’ve helped with my aggression.”

 

Bellamy can’t help but laugh at that. “Did you tell her that it has and you aren’t picking fights with people twice your size anymore now?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve gone down to one and a half.”

 

“O, you are going to send me to an early grave.” Bellamy states, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

He can’t help it. Once more he peers at the Slytherin table where Clarke Griffin seems to be melding in with the house quickly. She doesn’t join the boisterous laughter or vibrant conversation, but she smiles and speaks every once and a while. Octavia cranes her neck where Bellamy’s looking and huffs, “Ugh, another Slytherin. Like we don’t have enough already.”

 

“Yeah,” Bellamy says offhandedly. “Another Slytherin. The worst.”

 

Someone knocks over a drink onto someone’s lap and it breaks him out of his concentration, which he honestly appreciates. A few people leap up, another person throws a roll, and the entire evening ends with Headmaster McGonagall deducting forty points from Gryffindor.

 

***

 

Out of all his classes, it’s common knowledge Bellamy hates Potions the most. Forget that it’s become a not-so-secret way for Slytherin to earn an obscene amount of points over everyone else – even against the Ravenclaws. He could even potentially overlook the fact that it’s in the dungeon and gets near-freezing in the winter. What he doesn’t like more than anything is that Professor Slughorn took the position years before he got there and somehow never seemed to leave, hoarding prize students that he inevitably gave the best grades to. It made Bellamy not want to even try – what’s the point when the privileged in the class got all the benefit.

 

“Good afternoon, class, settle down.” Professor Slughorn states, standing from his chair as his portly figure moves around the classroom. “As you are all aware, we’ve had a transfer into our school yesterday, a Miss Clarke Griffin. Ms. Griffin, do you mind coming up to the front?”

 

Bellamy startles when the girl passes by him toward the front of the classroom. She’s as reserved as she was the night before, her hair tied into a braid that falls down past her shoulder. Bellamy wants to scowl at the green robes, but reminds himself that he’s not twelve. So he settles on a glare instead, pretending that he’s indifferent to the entire proceeding. “Ms. Griffin has come to us from Beauxbaton, whose curriculum is quite a bit different than ours. Which is why, instead of being in sixth year Potions with everyone else, she’s here in our seventh year.  Ms. Griffin, why don’t you take a seat by Mr. Blake? He can get you caught up with everything you need.”

 

The moment Professor Slughorn says his name, Bellamy freezes. Suddenly, the girl’s gaze is on him again once Professor Slughorn gestures in his direction and it’s so unsettling, he has to look away. From across the room, Bellamy sees Miller snicker, covering his mouth as his Potions partner frowns. He tries to emote as much hatred for his friend as possible through telepathy, but is clearly unsuccessful. It makes sense, he’s always been lousy at Divination.

 

Clarke sets her supplies down at the bench he’s at, placing her book on the table next to him. Professor Slughorn launches into a lecture which is half lecture, half flaunting, which is nothing out of the ordinary. But it’s uninteresting, so all Bellamy can do is focus on how uncomfortable he with the girl next to him. When Slughorn announces it’s time to work, Bellamy tries to figure out what would be the best thing to say, but Clarke beats him to it. “Hi, I’m Clarke.” She states. Surprisingly, her voice is clear of a French accent that he expects.

 

“Bellamy.” He states. He isn’t sure what to say to her, which he hates, so he settles on a brusque, “So, how far behind are you?”

 

He doesn’t mean it as harsh as it comes off, but he can tell the moment it rubs her the wrong way. Her face scrunches up and she recoils slightly. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“Well, clearly you’re behind because it’s your first day. What kind of Potion stuff do you know?”

 

“‘Potion stuff?’” She repeats. “Are you sure that you’re the one who is supposed to be helping me, because I’m not sure I need a lecture from someone who calls it ‘Potion stuff.’”

 

Bellamy scowls. He should’ve listened to his instincts, of course she’s a snob. “Listen, I know this isn’t your fancy all-girls school, but I’m going to tell you right now that I’m not going to be doing your work for you just because they thought it was a good idea to put you a year ahead.”

 

“Imagine my consternation,” Clarke drawls, turning her body away from him. She opens her book and scours the page until she finds the one she wants. Running her finger down the page, she grabs a few of her ingredients and rolls out her knife set.

 

Bellamy’s almost impressed at how sharp her skills are with the knife, quickly running the blade across a few bugs and herbs as she sprinkles them into her cauldron. If anything, it annoys him more. “Wouldn’t have thought the Princess would be able to get her hands dirty like that.”

 

“Wouldn’t have thought you could put a coherent sentence together, but here we are.” Clarke says, not taking her eyes off the recipe. She stirs her cauldron three time counterclockwise, and then moves to the next page. Finally, once she’s done stirring, she looks up at him. “Look at us, breaking down preconceived notions.”

 

“Listen here, Princess—”

 

“Look.” Clarke says, putting her hands up. “Clearly it was a mistake to put us together. But we don’t even have to work on this together. Why don’t I work on my potion and you work on yours and never will our paths meet.”

 

Bellamy clenches his jaw, frustrated that somehow this person is so easily getting under his skin. “Should’ve known you’d be a Slytherin. The moment you walked into the Great Hall.”

 

The corners of Clarke’s mouth turn up from where she’s leaning over her cauldron. “Should’ve known I was clever? I agree. Although, it doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re a Gryffindor.”

 

“Yeah, the best house? The house of Harry freaking Potter—”

 

“Idiotically reckless.”

 

“You know what, you’re a pain in the ass.”

 

“That was unkind.” Clarke says with a teasing smile. “Like I said. You do your potion, I’ll do my mine. Just don’t get your scraps on my side of the table and we’ll be fine.”

 

Bellamy opens his mouth to argue, but she’s so focused on her potion that he knows it won’t be worth it. Clenching his fists, he tells himself to calm down, he can’t have a Slytherin – hell, a Slytherin _transfer_ that’s only been here for one day – affect him this much. So he turns to do his own potion, telling himself he’s not doing what Clarke tells him because she told him, but because it’s what he needs to do.

 

Unfortunately, since he spent his portion of their time arguing, by the end of class his potion is only half done and Clarke’s is emitting a rather pleasant aroma. “Ah, Ms. Griffin, jumping right in, aren’t we?” Professor Slughorn says jovially when he comes to their table. “Almost precisely perfect – looks like we have the makings of a potions master right here. Ten points to Slytherin.”

 

Some of the Slytherins grin at that, only making Bellamy scowl deeper. When Slughorn looks at his mess, his smile falters. “Spending too much time helping Clarke, my boy?”

 

Through clenched teeth, Bellamy states, “Something like that.”

 

“Yes, Bellamy has been very helpful.” Clarke says sweetly, her expression not giving away any hint that they’ve argued at all. “I don’t think I could’ve possibly done it without him.”

 

“Ah, good lad.” Professor Slughorn says. “Five points to Gryffindor for your support. I can’t give you a full ten with a potion looking like that, though. Moving on!”

 

The moment Slughorn is out of earshot, Bellamy whirls on her. “What the hell was that about?”

 

“Are you actually upset you gained house points?” Clarke snorts, starting to pack her things. “You are aware that you’re trying to get the most, right? You know basic arithmetic?”

 

“I don’t need your help getting house points, thank you very much.” Bellamy states. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but—”

 

His tirade is cut off when a chime announcing end of class period echoes in the dungeon. “And with that, I’m out.” Clarke says, hopping off her stool. “You’re have to push pause on what I’m sure is a very riveting rant. Until next time, unless you feel like switching classes.”

 

“Me?” Bellamy exclaims, following her out. “Why in the hell would _I_ switch class? You’re the one who just got here!”

 

Clarke whirls around, the teasing smile back. She steps close to him – far too close for his comfort – a wicked look behind her eyes. Tilting her head up, she says, “Because there’s only one person this is bothering. And everyone knows it’s not me.”

 

“Dude,” Miller says, coming up behind him and clapping him on his back. “That was amazing. Seriously, I’m going to need to start bringing snacks to Potions class and just hope I don’t eat a beetle or something.”

 

“Shut up, Miller.”

 

“No, seriously. I’ve _never_ seen someone go toe-to-toe with you like that. It was like, poetic and shit.” Miller states as they climb the stairs to the main hall. “I could make some serious money selling tickets to this.”

 

“She just threw me off a bit, okay?” Bellamy states. “I didn’t expect her to… you know!”

 

Miller makes a face. “No, Bellamy, I don’t. Care to enlighten me?”

 

“It’s just—”

 

Before he can finish his very unplanned sentence that he’s certain will make Miller’s argument better than his own, the two round the corner to see Clarke standing and speaking with someone who has their back turned to them. When Bellamy realizes who it is, he groans a little too loudly. The figure turns at the noise, a smile stretching across his face.

 

“Fancy meeting you here, Blake.” The person states, moving closer. “I hear you’re becoming very close with my new buddy Clarke.”

 

“Fuck off, Murphy.” Miller snaps, his playful mood evaporating. “Nobody cares.”

 

Murphy is clearly not deterred by this. “I heard you actually won some points in Potions class today. Granted, you needed to have your hand held, but congrats. I’m sure it felt really nice.” Murphy winks at Bellamy and Bellamy reminds himself if he gets into a fist fight, he’ll get kicked off the Quidditch team.

 

“Is there a point to you being here?” Bellamy asks.

 

Shrugging, Murphy shoulders his bag. “Just making sure my new friend Clarke is handling classes well like the good citizen I am. Not my fault you two have the same class.” Tilting his head, Murphy says, “Ready for this weekend, Blake? I think everyone is ready for Gryffindor to be taken down a few notches.”

 

“That’s real rich, coming from you.” Bellamy states. “And the fact you haven’t beat Gryffindor in the Quidditch Cup in two years.”

 

“We’re coming for you.” Murphy says, but his smile falters ever so slightly.

 

“When you do, give me a heads up.” Bellamy laughs. “I’ll be sure to duck.”

 

“If you three have finished measuring, I’ve got to go to the library.” Clarke groans, shoving her way in the middle of the three of them and pushing them apart. Bellamy isn’t sure when they all slowly gravitated toward each other, but flinches when Clarke moves him back. “Murphy, you were going to show me where it is? I got lost on the way to Transfiguration class this morning because of the moving staircases. Sure, it’s a cool magical school, but I miss being certain of where a staircase might take me.”

 

“Yeah Clarke, let’s go. They need to go to practice.” Murphy states.

 

“Practicing doesn’t hurt, Murphy.” Miller scoffs. “I recommend trying it sometime.”

 

“Okay, enough, I just want to study.” Clarke says, grabbing Murphy’s arm. “And if someone doesn’t take me immediately, I’m going to start hexing people.”

 

“See you at the game, Blake!” Murphy calls as Clarke shoves him down the hallway. “I’ll be the one kicking your ass.”

 

“You know, Clarke,” Bellamy calls after them before he can really think it through. “If you want to cheer for an actual winning team, I suggesting sitting with Gryffindor.”

 

Clarke looks over her shoulder as she shoves Murphy down the hall. Even from where he’s standing, he can see the exaggerated roll of the eyes before focusing back on guiding Murphy.

 

Miller snorts. “Dude.”

 

“What? It was a burn on their Quidditch team!”

 

Miller wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Sure it was, bud.”

 

***

 

“Hey! Give those back to me!”

 

Bellamy’s currently sitting on an open ledge of a hallway at Hogwarts, snow falling around him. He loves Hogwarts grounds when it snows, so he tends to find places he can perch and pretend to do homework while he watches it. But when his sister’s voice echoes down the courtyard, Bellamy snaps the book shut that he’s pretending to read.

 

Leaping off the ledge, Bellamy barrels down the hallway to find the noise, unceremoniously shoving past a group of young Ravenclaws as he does so. “Move out of the way!” He snaps at them as they flatten against the wall. He’s too panicked to really care that he may have knocked a thirteen-year-old on his ass.

 

When he reaches the courtyard where Octavia is, she’s flanked by a posse of Slytherins. Charging toward them, Bellamy bursts into the center of the group and shoves the first so hard, they fly backwards. The moment there’s a hole, the line of Slytherins fill in. Bellamy curses because he left his bag at the stoop he was sitting on, where his wand is currently packed. “What the hell is going on?” He snaps, facing them regardless.

 

“Just reminding your sister that next time she thinks it’s a smart idea to speak in class about things she _doesn’t understand_ , to zip it.” One of the Slytherins say – a slimy-haired kid named Sterling who needed someone to rearrange his face – as he moves closer to Bellamy, his wand already out. “We don’t need any trouble from a fucking _mudblood_.”

 

It’s like someone takes over his body. Before he even realizes he’s done it, Sterling is on the ground and his fist is stinging. Wands are retrieved from robes and suddenly Bellamy’s facing five of them at once, Sterling scrambling to get to his feet. “You’re going to regret that, asshole.”

 

“Funny,” Bellamy grumbles, unable to see past the red before his eyes. “I was about to say the same thing about you.”

 

It’s not a secret about Bellamy and Octavia’s mother. Sure, people know that they’re half-siblings due to an indiscretion with their mother and a muggle born, but he didn’t think people really cared. But in this moment Bellamy realizes something. They didn’t care when they thought it was him – a 6’2’’ Gryffindor with a mean left hook. They do care when it’s a petite fifth year with a big mouth.

 

Another Slytherin flicks his wrist. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.” He states – Bellamy vaguely remembers his name is Dax. Placing his wand in a sloppy ready position, Dax places his hand up.

 

Now, logically Bellamy knows the only thing he’s armed with is his fists. His wand is in his bag, there’s no other Gryffindors around, and he’s already slugged one of them.

 

So he goes with the next best thing.

 

Before Dax can utter a word, Bellamy lunges at him, tackling him to the ground. Someone let’s out a shout and then there’s a quick motion and Bellamy’s flying back off him. Slamming his head against the ground, Bellamy blinks dazedly as he realizes he’s looking at the sky, straight from his back. “Bell!” Octavia cries from above, but her words are all jumbled. He sees a flash of her brown hair and he struggles to get up, the world spinning before him.

 

“If you wanted to illegally take out the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, I’m sure there were less conspicuous ways of doing so.”

 

Bellamy blinks.

 

The voice is definitely not Octavia. She wouldn’t ever remain that calm in a fight, in fact he’s slightly worried she’s off somewhere hexing someone’s eyebrows off. But the voice does sound familiar, but he can’t quite place it.

 

Once the world stops tilting, he hoists himself up on his elbows only to see the last person in the world he’s want to witness him being flattened on his ass. Clarke Griffin stands above where he is, her hands on across her chest as she faces the line of Slytherins. “I thought Slytherins were supposed to be clever.” She states. “Did the sorting hat misplace you?”

 

The group clearly is thrown off by Clarke, but Sterling, who is sporting a bloody lip, snarls, “This is none of your business.”

 

“You shouldn’t attack people publicly if you don’t want it to be everyone’s business.” Clarke says coolly.

 

“You realize you’re a Slytherin, right?” Someone spits at her.

 

“The green robes were a tip off.” Clarke drawls. “Now, unless you want to lose house points or get detention, I suggest you run off now. Because I’m sure all the anti-fighting charms that Flitwick placed all over the school are going crazy. They’ll be here in a matter of seconds. So, you can either use your _heads_ like the Slytherin’s you are and find another way to take Bellamy out, or you can collectively lose all the points we have so far. Which is it going to be?”

 

Bellamy waits for the punchline. He’s having trouble seeing straight, let alone understanding what’s going on. After a few tense moments, someone grumbles and they slink away, quickening their pace as they see the professors that are no doubt running to the area.

 

The moment they are out of sight, Clarke whips around and crouches to where he is. “Are you an actual idiot, or is it just this week?”

 

That was definitely not what he expected her to say, so he blinks a few times and replays it in his head. “I’m sorry, _what?_ ”

 

Clarke kneels and helps him sit fully up. “Are you an idiot? Going into a fight _wandless_ and _outnumbered_ , god I see why you’re a Gryffindor. Just an idiot.”

 

“Hey!” Bellamy snaps, standing up far too quickly. He stumbles, realizing he has no idea what he was hit with, let alone what the repercussions were. “I had it handled before you got here.”

 

“Did you now?” Clarke snaps, placing her hands on his shoulders and she easily shoves him back down to the ground. He startles at how forceful she is, trying to get his brain to catch up with his body, which honestly isn’t playing fair. “Because from where I was standing, you were on the ground and they were about to curse you to the ends of the earth.”

 

“Come on, they were Slytherins.” Bellamy curses. “They can’t do much with their noses so high in the air.”

 

Clarke bristles at that, which makes Bellamy feel bad in a weird way. He never thought he’d be feeling guilty to her, but when her face falls slightly, he feels it. Before he can say something to take it back, she rests her hand on his chest like she can keep him down by sheer force of will. He doesn’t mind, in fact, he appreciates having an excuse to stay on the ground because the earth is still turning.

 

“I hope you don’t mind this _Slytherin_ just saved your ass.” Clarke snaps after a beat.

 

“What am I witnessing right now?” Octavia asks, only a few feet away.

 

“O, you okay?” Bellamy asks, not taking his gaze away from Clarke.

 

She’s just so _close._

 

The first night she arrived, she was far enough away, he could tell himself he doesn’t feel anything. Except now she’s crouching right before him, soft hand on his chest and concern in her eyes that he’s not used to. Sure, he’s had his fair share of injuries through Quidditch, but he’s never had someone stare at him the way she is.

 

“Would it matter if I wasn’t?” Octavia snorts from somewhere behind him.

 

Clarke’s running her hands down his front and he’s suddenly very aware of his body. Bellamy tells himself he needs to _focus_ , but that isn’t helpful because he’s _feeling things_ and now is _not_ the time. “Seriously, are you okay?” Clarke asks softly, her hands ghosting his face. “Are you dizzy? Trouble focusing?”

 

Yes and yes, but Bellamy’s not going to tell Clarke that.

 

“No, I’m fine.” Is what he manages and judging by Octavia’s laughter, it’s not very convincing. Swallowing thickly, he continues, “You really didn’t need to do that.”

 

“Where is your wand?” Clarke demands, reaching into his cloak pockets without warning.

 

Now, Bellamy considers himself a pretty together person. Except when Clarke is this close and she’s running her hands down his chest and brushing against his legs as she searches him, he loses all ability to think properly. “It’s, uh, in my bag.”

 

“And awful lot of good that did you.” Clarke sighs, rolling back on her heels and away from him. He isn’t sure whether he wants her back closer or not. “Well, we should still go to the hospital wing and make sure you don’t have a concussion. You hit your head pretty hard.”

 

“I actually have class.” Octavia states, a smile curling on her lips. “So I can’t take him.”

 

“O—” Bellamy warns, glowering at her.

 

“I appreciate the help, big brother. Although, you know I could’ve totally taken them, right?”

 

Groaning, he runs his hand down his face. “Octavia, if you could stay out of trouble for a day, I’d consider it a personal kindness.”

 

“Whatever you say, big bro. And hey,” Octavia leans in. “Thanks Clarke. I guess not every Slytherin is an asshole.”

 

To that, Clarke actually laughs. Bellamy’s struck by the sound, but unable to react before she says, “I suppose every Gryffindor isn’t crazy.”

 

Octavia flips her hair. “Who said I’m not?”

 

And she has the nerve to skip off, leaving Bellamy alone with Clarke.

 

Clarke returns her attention to him, a teasing smile on her lips. “You Blakes are real charmers.” Clarke says, offering him her arm.

 

Bellamy helps himself up with Clarke’s help, trying not to think of how close the two of them are as he leans on her for support. “It’s in our DNA.”

 

“Along with your lack of self-preservation?” Clarke asks.

 

“As opposed to your privileged snobbery, Princess?”

 

“That was unkind.” Clarke states, but there’s a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

 

“You haven’t been pulling punches yourself.” Bellamy chides, but he can’t help but admit it’s a bit fun arguing with her. “Seriously, you don’t have to take me to the hospital wing. I don’t think I even need—”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you’re going. We need to salvage what little brain cells you have left.” Clarke says. “And after all, I don’t want you to have any excuse when you lose to Slytherin this weekend.”

 

Bellamy finds himself smiling at that. “Okay, Princess. I accept your challenge.”

 

“Not a challenge.”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

He tells himself he’s letting Clarke lead him to the hospital wing just to shut her up, but he can’t help but stiffen at how her body fits beside his as she helps him down the hall. She doesn’t recoil and berates him the entire time, and somehow it’s the most fun he’s had all week.

 

***

 

Bellamy stands outside the Quidditch pitch, his hand wrapped around his broom. Everyone is lined up behind him and he feels the need to say something, but for some reason, the fact that this is his last year on the Hogwarts Quidditch team hits him all at once and his mouth dries. Sure, they had a few games already into the school year, but each game draws him closer to the end.

 

“Alright team,” he finally says, turning to face the rest of the players. They look as determined as they usually do, albeit fired up thanks to their opponent. There’s nothing he enjoys more than defeating Slytherin – and so far in this season, the two houses are 1-1. “You know the drill. Slytherins may have tricks, but they can’t beat what we inherently have: talent. They know they can’t beat us at our own game, so they’ll try to trap us into theirs. Don’t let them. Focus on our strategy, don’t get wrapped up in whatever games they try to drag us into. We’re better – plain and simple. As long as we stick to the plan, we’ll be fine.”

 

“Yeah, plus if I have to listen to Murphy talk about beating us for one more day, I’m going to kick everyone’s ass.” Miller chips in. Nervous laughter ripples through the group, mainly because everyone knows he’ll actually go through with it.

 

“So there you go,” Bellamy chuckles. “Win for our house, and if not our house, so that the last thing you see isn’t Miller’s fist.”

 

“Here, here!” Octavia shouts from the back. “Best motivational speech you’ve ever given, big brother.”

 

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Let’s do this.”

 

“Yeah!” Everyone shouts, lifting their brooms above their heads.

 

Rushing out into the pitch, Bellamy is immediately surrounded by the shouts and cheers from those around the bleachers, feet above his head. It’s always a bit muffled on the ground, like he’s underwater and waiting to break free of the surface. It always gets his nerves skyrocketing. The waiting is always the worst. Gripping his broom, he makes his way toward the center of the field.

 

Of course Murphy is already there. He isn’t sure how a sixth-year got to be Quidditch Captain for Slytherin, but Bellamy has a feeling that it has something to do with some thinly veiled threats Murphy made to the entire team. Approaching him, Bellamy smirks. “So eager to get your ass kicked, how cute.”

 

Murphy barely even skips a beat before retorting, “And here I thought you weren’t going to show up. I mean, I’d be afraid too if I were you. I wouldn’t want to lose again. In front of the whole school.”

 

“That’s funny,” Bellamy states. “Because you’ve been all year.”

 

“That didn’t even remotely make sense. You’re off your game, Blake.” Murphy states. “I mean, I would be concerned too. Not wanting to look bad in front of the whole school… and the new girl.”

 

“What?”

 

Now, Bellamy was expecting a lot of trash talk from Murphy. He was expecting taunts, digs at his family, at Octavia, hell, a few swear words thrown in for good measure. What he wasn’t prepared for was _that_.

 

“You heard me.” Murphy says, a smirk teasing at the corners of his mouth. “You know Clarke’s here. I mean, she’s a smart one, so she’s supporting Slytherin. I’m sure you don’t want to fail in front of here.”

 

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” Bellamy snaps, taking a stride forward. He isn’t entirely sure why he’s suddenly angry, but now he wants the game to start so he can steal Miller’s Beater’s bat and drive a Bludger at his head.

 

Murphy snorts. “Sure, Blake.”

 

A whistle sounds and Madame Hooch stalks over, her whistle in one hand and broom in the other. “Alright you two, enough of that.” She says sharply. “I’d love to get through one game of Slytherin and Gryffindor without a fight breaking out.”

 

“Not my fault Gryffindor is filled with a bunch of impulsive Neanderthal idiots.” Murphy offers.

 

“Because having spineless Slytherins—”

 

“I said _enough_.” Madame Hooch implores. “Let’s get this going with minimal bloodshed, shall we?”

 

“Aw, you’re taking away the fun part.” Murphy states.

 

She throws him a nasty look and fortunately that does enough to at least get him to stop talking. Unlocking the chest, Madame Hooch releases the Snitch, which buzzes around their heads before she releases the Bludgers. For a brief, irrational moment, Bellamy thinks he might actually get his wish of seeing Murphy slugged in the face with one, but of course he leans out of the way. Taking the Quaffle in her hands, Madame Hooch steps between the two. “Ready players?”

 

Bellamy grabs his broom and settles.

 

“Three, two – _go!”_

 

The moment the Quaffle is in the air, Bellamy shoots into the sky, reaching out to grab it before Murphy can wrap his fingers around it. He tosses it quickly to Octavia – the two of them having practiced all summer on passing and offense movements – beaming with pride when she barely even looks at it while snatching it out of the air.

 

The game itself is exhilarating.

 

Bellamy would never say this out loud, but he loves playing Slytherin. Sure, they’re comprised of a bunch of assholes, but they are _good_ if he’s being honest. Playing against them is exciting, challenging, terrifying, and incredible – it makes the victory all the sweeter.

 

A gentle rain starts and Bellamy squints, trying to find their Seeker – a third year named Charlotte with amazing speed and potential. Bellamy has always been told the best Seekers are on the smaller side, so they can zip in and out of the pitch with minimal notice. He hopes that she’s getting close to finding the Snitch because rain always makes his fingers freeze and he has a hard time keeping hold of his broom. Sure, they’re up by forty points, but it makes no difference if Charlotte doesn’t find it soon.

 

He’s about to throw the Quaffle in for another ten points when a Bludger comes flying out of nowhere. Ducking, he drops the Quaffle and his hand slips, flipping him over. Bellamy feels his legs slide off of the broom and he flips over, one hand still plastered on while his entire body hangs from the sky. He can almost hear the collective breath of those around him. His fingers ache and he tries to pull himself up, but his fingers are slipping.

 

Reaching out, Bellamy tries to get his other hand on the broom, but he’s barely able to scratch the wood. His arm is on fire as he tries to pull himself, his fingers shifting more—

 

A loud bang echoes in the stadium and Bellamy nearly lets go of his broom right there. Except he knows that noise. It’s the noise that the game is over, loud enough for everyone to hear at all corners of the pitch. He gently lowers his broom until his feet graze against the ground, finally letting go of the wood. Whirling around, he rushes over to a flurry of red. “What happened?” Bellamy cries, eyes wide. “Who got the Snitch?”

 

He can barely hear the announcement, but is too afraid to look in the stands to see.

 

He doesn’t need to, though. As soon as Charlotte lands, he knows. She slumps over to him, broom in hand, and she can’t look him in the eye. Taking a quick breath, Bellamy tries to settle himself. “Charlotte, it’s alright.”

 

He can tell her eyes are filled with tears, even though she won’t look at him. “I’m so sorry, guys.”

 

The team is landing onto the ground of the Quidditch pitch one by one, all downcast and angry. Someone even throws their brooms so hard it shatters, another teammate uttering a quick spell so it’ll mend itself back together.

 

“There’s no need to be sorry. These things happen.” Bellamy states. “We’ll watch the recording and figure out how we can improve.”

 

“Murphy’s going to be fucking unbearable.” Miller snaps, all but throwing his broom aside. “This is bullshit! We were leading the entire match!”

 

“Miller, shut up.” Bellamy snaps, not able to keep his eyes off Charlotte. Sure, there were many reasons why he wanted her as his Seeker, but there were also reasons why he questioned whether it was a good idea every day. This was one of them. Watching a third-year crumble before him wasn’t something he ever hoped to see. “It’s fine, guys. We’re still in the running for the Cup. As long as we beat Ravenclaw next week and don’t lose a single game to Hufflepuff, we’ll be fine.”

 

“Oh, interesting the score!”

 

Everyone turns to see Murphy land on the ground, his eyes twinkling. People are starting to invade the Quidditch pitch as they usually do after a game, Bellamy sucking in a breath to prepare himself for the throng of disappointed Gryffindors that will be at his side shortly.

 

“And here I thought you were going to wipe the floor with us?” Murphy asks, smile broad. “Can you tell me what the score was? I need to verify.”

 

“Oh, fuck off Murphy.” Bellamy snarls, telling himself that fighting more Slytherins wouldn’t be the best option. Although, he’s seeing red and all he wants to do is lay him out with one punch.

 

“You know? I really would rather not.” Murphy grins. “I want to wait until my entire house comes to the pitch and we can really celebrate, you know? I mean, taking down the almighty _Gryffindor_ —”

 

“I’m seriously going to—”

 

“Clarke!” Murphy exclaims, waving past Bellamy. “I’m so glad you came out!”

 

Bellamy _hates_ the way he freezes up just at her name, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but where he is at the moment. He’s not embarrassed he lost – you win some, you lose some – but the last person he wants to see is Clarke Griffin right after he’s done so. Except she strides over nonetheless, a thick scarf wrapped around her neck. He can’t help but marvel that despite everything, Clarke looks amazing in green. It lights up her face in a way he isn’t sure any other color could.

 

She faces him, a small smile on her face. “Tough break.”

 

“Excuse me?” Murphy exclaims. “Luck has nothing to do with it—”

 

“Well, we don’t want a complete blow out for the Quidditch Cup. Where’s the fun in that?” Bellamy retorts, a part of him easing.

 

Her smile widens at that, despite Murphy’s exclamations next to her. “I was going to say, I’m only interested if there’s potential murder involved.”

 

“Trust me, it’s about to happen.” Murphy grumbles. “Okay, you two losers are really bumming me out. I’m going to go over to a group of people that are talking about how I’m a god.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Then you’ll be searching for a while.”

 

“Dude, you’re a _Slytherin_. You’re legally not allowed to be mean to me.”

 

Trudging off, Murphy lets out an obnoxious shriek and jumps into a group of other Slytherins as they celebrate. Clarke scoffs good-naturedly, but her expression is fond. He doesn’t know how to respond to anyone looking at Murphy like that, and doesn’t like the sting of something resembling jealousy his the pit of his stomach. “What a dick,” he breathes in order to even himself out.

 

“Oh, he’s not bad.” Clarke smiles, turning back toward him. “He’s more outwardly obnoxious than anything.”

 

“Yeah, outward obnoxiousness. That is the kind you want.” Bellamy sighs.

 

Clarke beams at him, taking a small step toward him. His mind short-circuits momentarily as she gets closer, a soft smile on her lips. It feels intimate, that smile. “Tough break.” She says. “You fought well.”

 

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t win.”

 

“It’s all about the endgame.” Clarke states. “In every war, there are wins and losses. All that matters is who’s standing in the end.”

 

“Are you likening Quidditch to war?”

 

“Would you rather I use something less aggressive?”

 

“No,” Bellamy answers. “I actually think it’s the perfect analogy.”

 

“Are you actually agreeing with me?” Clarke asks. “I didn’t think you were capable of doing so. Losing to my house has changed you.”

 

Bellamy groans. “Just when I was beginning to think you were alright, you had to go and say something like that.”

 

“Well, I have to keep you on your toes.”

 

“Do you now?” Bellamy asks, taking a step forward. He isn’t sure why he’s closing the gap between the two, but he does know he wishes it was shorter. “You think you can surprise me, Princess?”

 

“I know I can.” Clarke says, undeterred. “Just have to figure out which buttons to push.”

 

“Oh really?” Bellamy asks. “Now—”

 

“Bellamy!”

 

Startling, Bellamy instinctively takes a step back when Octavia bounds over, a thin layer of sweat and mist over her skin. “O,” he breathes, trying to pretend that he wasn’t just deep in conversation with a Slytherin.

 

“What did I just interrupt?” She asks, grinning. Octavia bounds between the two, oddly chipper having just lost. Octavia is an even worse loser than Bellamy is – usually it involves an assault of some kind, and the rest of the team has to hold her back. Now, she’s smiling at him.

 

Bellamy can’t remember the last time she smiled after a loss.

 

“Hi Octavia,” Clarke says. “Sorry that we beat you.”

 

“Oh, there’s always next time.”

 

Now he’s incredibly suspicious. The answer usually would’ve elicited a swing or a few choice words. The fact that she’s grinning at Clarke makes him want out of the area as soon as possible. “Has Bellamy told you about the party?” Octavia asks.

 

Bellamy frowns. Firstly, he doesn’t even know what she’s talking about. Secondly, he doesn’t like the look on her face. “O—” He says, hoping he can convey enough through her name to get her to stop.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

“Hufflepuffs always through a fall party. They always do the best ones. They sneak in enough whiskey for everyone and hold it in the Room of Requirement, so it’s always tricked out. No one ever suspects the Hufflepuffs.”

 

Bellamy’s eyes widen. “Seriously, O—”

 

“Slytherins don’t tend to come – only if they’re dating someone, but I think it’d be okay if you came. I mean, you’re like Slytherin-lite, you know?”

 

Clarke’s eyes narrow, but when she realizes Octavia’s just poking fun at her, she relaxes. “Slytherin-lite? Same asshole-ness, fewer calories?”

 

“See, Bell? She gets it.” Octavia states, smacking his arm. “It’s this weekend and you should come! I don’t recommend wearing your Slytherin robes.”

 

“Okay, you guys really need to get over this Slytherin thing.” Clarke sighs. “Cunning, ambitious? Yeah, such horrible things to be. Also, I can add exceptional at Quidditch to the list.”

 

Bellamy groans. “Now that’s just mean-spirited.”

 

“You guys said several things about me and my house before I said anything!” Clarke exclaims. “You can’t get mad at me for stating facts.”

 

“Okay, now I’m gonna punch her.” Octavia states, her jovial nature slipping.

 

“Okay, no one is going to punch anyone.” Bellamy says. “Octavia, why don’t you go to the locker room and make sure Miller isn’t _actually_ beating anyone up? I’ll be there in a few.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Octavia states, waving his comment aside. “You should still come, Clarke. I’ll even let your last comment slide.”

 

“Noted.”

 

“O, get of here, _now._ ”

 

“Whatever, big brother.”

 

To her credit, Octavia does bound away, merging with a sea of despondent red that’s slowly filtering out of the pitch. Bellamy wishes he could actually berate her with his mind, but he’s never possessed that sort of magic. Turning back to Clarke, he sighs, “So, that’s Octavia.”

 

“I met her the other day.”

 

“Yeah, well, that’s more her personality right there.”

 

Bellamy pauses. He knows he should be going back to talk to the team. Make sure Charlotte is okay, holding back Miller. It’s hard when he wants to fight someone for losing, and that he doesn’t want to leave this current situation.

 

“You know,” he finds himself saying, trying to ignore how nervous he is suddenly. “She’s not wrong. It’s a pretty good party. I mean, good booze.”

 

She snorts.

 

“You look like you could use a drink.”

 

“After moving here, I could use more than a drink.”

 

“Then you should come.” Bellamy states. “You’ll be able to drink to your heart’s content.”

 

She laughs. “I usually don’t do that with people I don’t know.”

 

“You know me.” Bellamy states. When she peers at him, he coughs. “I mean… we are Potion partners.”

 

“Yeah. We will always have Potions.”

 

Bellamy can’t help but chuckle. “Well, I hope I see you there.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

With that Clarke turns toward the sea of green that are making their way off the field. Bellamy moves toward the locker room, feeling a little lighter than he expected, especially having just lost.

 

***

 

The night of the party, Bellamy stands in his dormitory, running his hands down his front. He’s wearing his ‘date shirt,’ which basically means shirt that has buttons on it. He’s run his fingers through his curls several times in front of the mirror, before a hand comes down on his shoulder.

 

“Looking good, Blake.” Miller states, squeezing his shoulders playfully. “If I wasn’t already spoken for, I think I’d have to hit on you.”

 

“Always making excuses.” Bellamy laughs, but it does nothing to quell the nervousness he feels. He tries to play it off by clapping Miller on the back, but he knows he’s as transparent as can be. “You never know with Hufflepuff parties. It’s all fun and games until three people are unconscious and three people won’t speak to you.”

 

“That’s the spirit.” Miller laughs. “But seriously, I think you should say something to Clarke.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Come on, dude, it’s just me here. You don’t have to pretend, our dorm mates aren’t here to poke fun. You’ve had a thing for her the moment she stepped into the Great Hall.”

 

“That’s _not_ true—”

 

“It is true. Don’t try to lie to me, I’m your best friend.” Miller says. “I didn’t say anything because I thought it was a thing where you thought she was hot, but would get over it because she’s Slytherin. But it’s clearly not going away. Hell, you let Octavia convince you to invite her to the Hufflepuff party. Slytherins are almost _never_ invited. And Octavia is the last person you would let butt into your romantic life. This isn’t going away. You should say something.”

 

“You’re being ridiculous.” Bellamy states, but there’s no heat in it. “I do not have a thing for Clarke Griffin, nor will I ever. Just drop it and let’s head out.”

 

“I thought the whole point of the bro code was that we weren’t supposed to lie to each other.”

 

“When have we ever used the phrase ‘bro code?’”

 

“We didn’t need to! It was just there!”

 

“God, you are such a nerd. Let’s go.”

 

Fortunately, whether Miller planned it or not, he’s feeling less anxious about the party. He even has a bit of his bravado back, stalking down the stair to the Gryffindor common room where everyone is talking about the party. Honestly, he’s surprised they don’t get busted more often with how obvious everyone is about it. A part of him things the professors know, but just don’t care enough to do anything about it.

 

The two climb out of the portrait, moving as inconspicuously as they can down the hall. They make it to the Room of Requirement as uneventful as possible, only running into the Prefect of Ravenclaw before reaching the room. They were panicked for a second, before realizing once his RA shift was up, he’d probably be joining them and knee-deep in fire whiskey by the end of the night.

 

The party is loud and already in full swing once they get inside, music blaring and a dizzying array of lights smattered over the room. Bellamy tries to make his way through the crowd, catching a few people he knows as he makes his way to the makeshift bar in the corner, desperately in need of a drink to calm down. Fortunately, Miller’s right in that there are barely any Slytherin’s here which means he won’t have to deal with the deluge of taunts about the loss the other day.

 

The music changes along with the lights and he sees a flash of golden hair and pauses.

 

She’s in the corner, a drink in hand. She seems to be deep in conversation and he fights the urge to move toward her. Miller catches his eye and grins, causing Bellamy to turn back to the bar. “Shut up.”

 

“You are so gone.”

 

“I invite you to do what I’ve already said.”

 

“Come _on_ , Bellamy!” Miller states, handing him a drink. “Either drink and forget, drink and talk to her, or drink and shut up – either way, drink up you fucking loon.”

 

With a pointed look, he grabs the cup from Miller and takes a sip. It does nothing for his butterflies. Miller gives him one final clap on the shoulder before wading his way through the sea of people. He knows Miller’s move to get him to say something, but he takes a few more drinks before he decides to do anything.

 

Of course, he knows he’s going to be going over to where Clarke is.

 

Weaving his way through the slew of bodies, Bellamy sees Clarke smiling at someone. The moment he sees who she’s talking to, he resists the urge to pretend he doesn’t see them, but also spy. The desire to spy wins out, so he moves closer and leans against the wall, just so he can hear what they’re saying.

 

“—believe you actually came out.” Octavia’s saying. Bellamy tries to ignore the fact that she has a drink in her hands. “Honestly, I mainly invited you to mess with Bell, I didn’t think you’d actually _come_.”

 

“Why not?” Clarke asks. “I can let loose as much as anyone.”

 

“See, that’s the issue. You use phrases like ‘let loose,’ which gets rid of whatever chill you may have.”

 

“I can be fun.”

 

“Sure,” Octavia snorts. “Anyway, it’s cool you came. Bell will be thrilled.”

 

“Please,” Clarke sighs. “He thinks I’m a snob.”

 

“Well, you kinda are.”

 

“Just because I came from Beauxbatons? Because I don’t like it when people talk down to me?”

 

“Beauxbatons is a fancy private school. And you have to know everyone already found out about your family. You can’t have a Master Healer for a mother and not expect people find out about it. Abby Griffin?”

 

“I don’t understand what my mother—”

 

“I’m not here to make you feel bad, I’m just saying. And it’s only been Bell and I. After our mom died, he’s always taken care of me. He gets a little overprotective when he thinks someone might hurt us.”

 

Clarke smiles to herself. “You’re lucky to have someone who has your back like that. Not many people do.”

 

“Yeah, I know. Don’t tell him I said that.”

 

“I would never.” Clarke says. “Your secret’s safe with me. However,” Clarke says thoughtfully and Bellamy starts to wonder if he should actually be listening. “I know that it must be hard to go to Bellamy with this kind of thing. I’m not the only one that people talk about.”

 

Octavia doesn’t say anything to that.

 

“But if anyone bothers you, particularly if it’s Slytherin, you can tell me. I’m happy to take care of it.”

 

Bellamy freezes.

 

“I can take care of myself, Clarke.”

 

“I’m sure you can, you’re a Blake.” Clarke responds. “But Slytherin or not, what they said about you was unacceptable. I’m happy to infiltrate from the inside.”

 

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

 

“If you have to be reminded, I haven’t made myself clear enough.”

 

Now, Bellamy knows Clarke is attractive. He’s not blind and as much as he’s argued with Miller, he can’t ignore that fact. He’s been telling himself that there are plenty of hot people in the world and he’s a man, so he was able to justify that part of himself. But now that she’s standing there, offering to help Octavia, there’s something else there. Something he desperately shoves down so that he can’t reach it.

 

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you here!” He says, pretending to just discover them and push through some people. “I don’t care for this duo.”

 

“I didn’t think you would.” Octavia snorts. “As much as I look forward to drinking with my big bro who is currently pretending he doesn’t actually see me drinking, I’m going to go over there now.”

 

“O—”

 

“Bye!”

 

Octavia bounces away, sure to flirt with anyone with a heartbeat as she usually does. He hates the fact that everyone seems to find her wild charm alluring – but she’s already threatened to kick his ass if he ever gets in between her and another man. He’s pushed his luck from time to time, but has learned that he needs to give her space.

 

“Human tornado, my sister.”

 

“She’s definitely one of a kind.” Clarke says. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

“I invited you.”

 

“Technically it was Octavia.”

 

“But I convinced you in the end, didn’t I?” Bellamy asks, winking at her. She merely rolls her eyes, but he sees that fondness at him and it does things to him he can’t quite explain.

 

“I suppose you’ll never know.” Clarke responds. “So, dealing with the fact that you lost?”

 

“You know? The one benefit with not mingling with the enemy, is that you don’t have to talk about it.”

 

“I’m the enemy now?”

 

“Haven’t you always been?” Bellamy asks, taking a step closer.

 

He isn’t sure when they became inches apart, but they are. He can almost feel the heat radiating off of her, the dancing and swaying of those around them nothing more than a fuzzy background noise.

 

“I’d like to think I’m a close ally.”

 

Bellamy chuckles. “An ally? You’ve been arguing with me the moment you got here.”

 

“Doesn’t mean I’m not an ally.” Clarke tilts her head up. “Would you prefer people who follow you blindly?”

 

“In this moment, yes!” Bellamy exclaims, but he can’t help but laugh. “Then I wouldn’t have to be dealing with you.”

 

“You don’t want to be dealing with me?” She asks, eyes glinting.

 

That’s a dangerous question.

 

There’s nothing he’d rather be doing at this exact moment than ‘dealing’ with her. But he shouldn’t be wanting to. Everything inside him is telling him it’s wrong. But she’s standing there and his throat is feeling thick and he wants to close the gap and—

 

“Bellamy! Clarke!”

 

The two flinch and Bellamy realizes he’s leaning closer to her, despite his insistence that he doesn’t want anything to do with the girl. The two look toward the voice, Miller standing at the edge of a table with a ball in his hand. “I think we all know what we want here.” Miller calls, mischief in his eyes.

 

Bellamy does his best to telepathically tell him that if he goes any further, he’ll murder him.

 

“Showdown! Slytherin versus Gryffindor! What do you say?”

 

Clarke turns to Bellamy. “Do you think you can handle it?”

 

“Handle _you?_ ” Bellamy asks. “Princess, please.”

 

“I take that as a challenge.”

 

Clarke marches over the head of the table, setting herself at one end. Bellamy isn’t entirely sure what’s happening, but she plants herself as if she’s ready to go head-to-head with him. He supposes he is.

 

“What is going on?” He asks, standing on the other side of the table.

 

“You know, typical rivalry.” She states. “The issue is, people think only one of us is scared.”

 

“Oh _shit!”_ Miller exclaims, placing a hand over his mouth. “The Slytherin has some trash talking game! Bellamy, are you really going to let her just come at you like that?”

 

“Whatever you say, Princess.” He states, unable to stop his smirk.

 

Miller sighs. “We need to work on your comebacks. It’s, like, embarrassing. I don’t even want to be seen with you. Anyways – this is beer pong, Muggle rules. Any sign of magic and you will be automatically eliminated. Two reracks and tip off starting in three. Ready you two?”

 

Bellamy peers at Clarke from the other side of the table. She has one hand behind her back and the other in front, aiming the ball at the cups placed on his side of the table. The lights in the room shimmer off her hair and he can’t help but marvel at how beautiful she looks. Swallowing, Bellamy asks, “Ready?”

 

“Are you?”

 

Bellamy supposes he’s not.

 

***

 

By the end of the night, Bellamy is drunk.

 

 _Very_ drunk.

 

It’s almost annoying how drunk he is – somehow Clarke beat him three times in a row in beer pong. To the point where he’s convinced that she was using magic somehow to make sure her balls aimed straight. Or, at least, bewitched him to miss. He’d never played so poorly, slowly getting more and more intoxicated as the night progressed on. He hated it, losing to Clarke.

 

Although it was also endlessly fun, losing to her.

 

By the end of the night, he didn’t mind at all.

 

Actually, by the end of the night, he didn’t mind anything.

 

“Oh-kay.” Clarke states, placing her arm under his. She hoists him up as much as she can, but the world is spinning. He’s alright with it. It’s actually kinda nice, letting loose.

 

Miller comes up to where they are, his eyes fond. “You know, when I told you that you couldn’t drink him under the table, I didn’t think that you’d actually take the challenge.”

 

“I’d like to think I can drink anyone under the table.” Clarke says matter-of-factly. “It’s not my fault he lost every game. I thought as a Chaser, he’d be a bit better with hand-eye coordination.”

 

“Me too.” Miller grumbles. “I had five sickles on the second game. I’m gonna kill him.”

 

“I think it’s an unfair fight right now.” Clarke chuckles, placing a steadying hand on his chest. Bellamy grins at the familiar touch, unable to stop himself. “You okay to take him back to the dorm?”

 

“I’d love to, Clarke, but I have something far more important to take care of in the corner, if you know what I mean? I can’t pause my game every time Bellamy decides to act like an idiot.”

 

“And I can?”

 

“Please Clarke.” Miller fixes him a look. “Like you have any game.”

 

Bellamy places a hand up. “Now, none of that, she’s fine.”

 

“Of course _you_ would think that.”

 

“Wait!” Clarke exclaims as Miller is lost in a sea of people. “How am I going to even get into the Gryffindor Common Room?”

 

Bellamy squeezes her shoulder, unable to stop himself from being more affectionate than he would ever be on any other day. “You forget. I am a Gryffindor.”

 

“How could I possibly forget that, you act like a complete idiot constantly?”

 

“Rude.”

 

“Bye guys!” Miller says, flicking his fingers. “Clarke, it’s been real. Bellamy, don’t be a jackass, please. The girl is doing me a solid and taking you home.”

 

His words are flippant, but he casts a look that says _way too much_ as he leaves.

 

To her credit, Clarke leads him out, Bellamy not taking his arm off from around her. He tells himself that it’s to settle himself, but honestly, he’d be find without her leading him. Sure, he may walk in a loopy line and sure, all the pillars around him are doubling, but he’s _fine_.

 

The thing is, Clarke is soft. And she smells good. God, does she smell good. The boys dormitory smells exactly like a Quidditch locker room and Clarke smells like the earth after a fresh rain.

 

“You know, you could at least help me a little.” Clarke groans and Bellamy realizes he’s been leaning on her a bit too much. He straightens, but continues to hold her.

 

“Sorry.”

 

‘It’s fine.” She says, patting his chest.

 

He smiles at her, his chest feeling warm. Sure, it’s the whiskey, but also he feels more comfortable than he has in a really long time. “Man, I can’t believe this will be my last Hufflepuff rager.”

 

Clarke laughs. “Don’t they have them throughout the year?”

 

“Not like this one. They throw one a year in the Room of Requirement and you never know when it’s going to happen. They change the date every year so they can’t get caught, everyone loses their mind and then you wait until next year. I can’t believe it’s my last one.”

 

“Are you excited to graduate?” Clarke asks.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “And no. I don’t love the idea of O being here by herself, but I guess it was going to happen sooner or later.”

 

“You can’t be everywhere, Bellamy.” Clarke smiles. “You have to let her do her own thing.”

 

“Trust me, I’ve known for a long time that trying to contain O in any way is a bad idea. I just… don’t like the idea of people thinking that they can say whatever they want when I’m gone. I don’t want her to be alone.”

 

“She won’t be alone.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I know Miller and others will stick up for a fellow Gryffindor, but it’s not the same and—”

 

“I didn’t mean Gryffindors.” Clarke says softly.

 

“Huh?”

 

Sure, he’s drunk. Sure, he’s very distracted by the fact that Clarke’s side is on his side and he’s tall enough to easily look down her shirt. Sure, he doesn’t have his usually gruff filter.

 

But it sounds like she’s saying something else. Something important.

 

“I’ll have Octavia’s back.” Clarke says, cutting him off from his spiral. “I mean, she’s a year younger than me, but I have one more year here. I can make sure no one says anything. Slytherin or not.”

 

“You don’t have to—”

 

“I know. I want to.” Clarke states. “I’d do that for you.”

 

Bellamy swallows, staring down at her. He isn’t sure when he fell, but Miller was right. He is so gone.

 

She’s so much softer right now than she has any right to be. He finds himself gravitating toward her, but he can’t even blame the alcohol for that, at this point. Bellamy doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in working and finding your own path. Settling your demons and moving forward.

 

Except…

 

Except right now? Fate is knocking in the back of his mind and he wonders if some things transcend lifetimes.

 

“Come on,” Clarke says with a grin. “Let’s get you in bed.” After a few moments, she asks, “What do you plan on doing when you graduate?”

 

“You’re taking advantage of my weakened state.” Bellamy accuses. “I would never tell you these things if I wasn’t drunk.”

 

It’s easier this way, honestly.

 

“Am I now?” Clarke retorts. “Because currently I think you’re taking advantage of the kindness of your Potions partner.”

 

“I can get back to my room by myself.”

 

“Can you, now?”

 

She pokes him in the side and he hates the fact that he flinches under her fingers. She laughs at him and it’s a beautiful sound. It occurs to him that she never laughs – like, really laughs – in a way people do. He recognizes it because neither does he.

 

“Why don’t you laugh more often?” He asks. He blames the alcohol.

 

“What?”

 

“You never laugh.  You should. It’s nice.”

 

Clarke shakes her head at him, like she’s making fun of him, which he doesn’t care for at all. “I laugh.”

 

“Not really.”

 

“How do you even know, you can barely walk.”

 

“That has no correlation and I’m walking just fine.” Bellamy scoffs. “But you never… chill.”

 

“I’ve never been a chill person.”

 

“Understatement of the century.”

 

“That was unkind.”

 

Bellamy snorts. “But I think you’re hiding something. Why did you come to Hogwarts?”

 

“What are you doing after graduation?”

 

“I asked you first.”

 

“No you didn’t, you avoided my question.”

 

“Semantics.”

 

“Fact.”

 

“Password?”

 

Bellamy is brought out of his conversation when the Fat Lady screeches at him. He sighs, cursing the universe for inopportune moments. Clarke looks to him and honestly, he can’t remember anything in his brain other than the fact that he momentarily had Clarke Griffin on the defensive.

 

“Password?” The Fat Lady asks again, clearly annoyed. “Wait, you’re not a Gryffindor.”

 

“She’s with me.” Bellamy slurs.

 

“Still not a Gryffindor.”

 

Clarke glances at Bellamy. “Can’t I just… really quick get him to bed?”

 

“You will _not_ be going anywhere near his bed!”

 

“To bed, _to bed!_ ”

 

Bellamy can’t help but chuckle at that. “Come on, this is all G-rated, I swear.”

 

“If I had a dollar every time—”

 

“The password is _Oddment_ , please will you let my friend help me to my room so I can go to sleep?” The Fat Lady scowls at him, so Bellamy does his best to put on as much charm as possible. Usually, it’s none, but thanks to the alcohol, he might have a chance. “I promise to never ask for a favor again.” He beams at her and the Fat Lady narrows her eyes.

 

But, the frame shifts and the dormitory entrance way opens up. “You are the best!” Bellamy exclaims.

 

Clarke hoists him up – which, honestly, he _did_ need help with – and the two of them are able to get into the Common Room. “You called me your friend.” Clarke says softly at his side.

 

It takes him a while to figure out what she’s saying in his current state. “Well, yeah. Aren’t we?”

 

“I suppose we are.”

 

It’s relatively dead, most people still at the party. There’s the occasional person studying and some twittering first years, but it’s the quietest he’s seen it in a while. So quiet, in fact, Clarke manages to get him to the stairwell of the boy’s dormitory without anyone even paying attention, saving him any rumors that might fly tomorrow.

 

The two stumble up the steps and Bellamy realizes for the first time how incredibly tired he is, despite wishing this moment would last longer. Clarke helps him into bed, pulling the sheets out from under him. “Now, I draw the line at helping you dress.” Clarke says. “I’m not your mother.”

 

Bellamy sighs into his pillow. “My mother never would’ve done this much for me.” He knows it’s something he should be embarrassed about saying, but right now he’s too sleepy to care. “I’ve always taken care of myself.”

 

Clarke hesitates. He feels her presence above him, but he doesn’t want her to leave. Of course, he can’t say that.

 

As if she reads his mind, Clarke moves. Bellamy feels the bed dip under her weight as she sits on the edge, smiling slightly. With a tentative hand, Clarke reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair in a way that makes him close his eyes.

 

It’s so gentle, the way she touches him.

 

Bellamy is made of edges. Sharp corners. Steel lines that people can’t cross.

 

But she is.

 

Shutting his eyes, Bellamy drifts as he focuses on her fingers raking through his hair. A quiet hum sounds beside him, Bellamy taking too long to realize it’s her. He shifts, pretending to turn over but really he wants to get closer. A part of him wonders if he should be embarrassed, but he can’t bring himself to be.

 

Instead, he falls to sleep with Clarke’s voice in his ears and her hands running through his hair.

 

***

 

The next day starts with a headache and a pillow thrown at his head.

 

Bellamy groans, his hand splayed out behind him. He flexes his fingers, as if he expects someone to be there, but he grabs nothing but air. Frowning, Bellamy opens an eye to see Miller standing above him with his arms crossed. “I hate you.” He grumbles, turning over in hopes that he may be able to fall back asleep soon.

 

“Yeah, not as much as you’re going to in a second.” Miller states. “Remember after we lost to Slytherin and you were like, ‘we can’t waste any more time!’ and demanded that we practice every day – even on Sundays – to prepare for our match against Hufflepuff?”

 

Bellamy makes a noise to answer.

 

“And then Hufflepuff immediately set their annual party for the day after we lost.”

 

“Are we getting to a point sometime this morning?”

 

“Well, the entire Quidditch team is downstairs in the Common Room – they all hate you, by the way – and I’m fairly certain Hufflepuff planned the party in order to make us too hungover to practice.”

 

“No,” Bellamy says into his pillow. “We don’t practice on Sundays.”

 

“Yeah, we didn’t, but you made us all promise we’d be up by 8 to get the Quidditch Pitch before anyone stole it.” Miller grumbles. “As an aside, I think Hufflepuff plans their annual blowouts in order to win Quidditch games. I can’t prove it, but I have a theory.”

 

“Go away.”

 

“You made me wake up on my day off. So fuck you and get out of bed.”

 

Without warning, Bellamy feels a hand wrap around his ankle and drag him out of bed. With a yelp, Bellamy tumbles out of the bed and slams against the ground. “What the hell?”

 

“Are you not listening to me?”

 

“No.”

 

Miller leans in like he’s about to whisper something, then shouts, _“Get your ass out of bed, you asshole!”_

 

Flinching, Bellamy jerks upright. “God, fine.”

 

When he’s dressed and stumbles downstairs, the entire Quidditch team is staring at him with murderous eyes and whispering curses under their breaths. “Yeah, I know,” Bellamy groans. “Now we should practice because I want to kill Hufflepuff for doing this.”

 

Everyone manages to agree on that, the team making their way to the Dining Hall. It’s sparse, the majority of people clearly still asleep. A few people point this out to Bellamy as colorfully as possible, but he merely throws them an unimpressed look and they shut up. The team grumbles as they eat breakfast, Bellamy telling himself that he’s a bit of an asshole for scheduling morning practice after the Hufflepuff party.

 

Except across the hall, seated by herself at the Slytherin table, is Clarke.

 

There’s a pencil in her hand and she’s scribbling furiously at a page, which can’t possibly be an assignment, because her motions are too quick to be writing anything.

 

As if she feels him watching her, Clarke glances up, pencil pausing.

 

Then he realizes everything’s changed.

 

When her eyes lock on his, a soft smile breaks out on her face. She lifts her hand slightly in a wave and he can’t help but follow suit.

 

“Uh,” Miller says next to him, breaking his apparent desire not to talk to him. “I forgot to ask, did anything happen to you last night?”

 

Bellamy doesn’t know how to answer that. “Not really,” he manages, not taking his eyes off of her.

 

It’s a lie though.

 

Something may not have happened in the way Miller means, but something did happen. It happened in between a song and the holding of a hand.

 

Something happened.

 

Everything changed.

 

***

 

“—you have got to be kidding me.”

 

“Bellamy, this is why I didn’t want to tell you!”

 

“When were you planning on tell me?”

 

“Now! That’s why we’re having this conversation!”

 

“No, we’re having this conversation because I had to learn from Marcie Thompson that you aren’t planning on staying at Hogwarts for Christmas?”

 

Octavia runs her hands down her face. “I was going to tell you!”

 

Bellamy tries to push past how much it hurts – how much he wants to tell her not to – and says, “Well, thank you for telling me.”

 

“We don’t have to make this into a big thing.” Octavia snaps. “I got invited to someone’s house for Christmas – that way I’m not stuck at _school_. And they invited you too, so we can be together!”

 

“Do you honestly think I want to spend my last Christmas at Hogwarts at a stranger’s house?” Bellamy asks. “What part of every part of me made you think that I’d like that?”

 

“I thought, maybe, just maybe, you’d want to spend Christmas with me!”

 

“I do! But not at some random person’s house that I don’t even know!”

 

“You _know_ Marcie! She was at my birthday dinner last year.”

 

“Yeah, we’re best buds. I can’t believe I forgot such a lasting friendship.” Bellamy runs his hands through his hair. “You know what? Whatever, O. I’m glad you’re getting out of the school. I’ll see you when you get back.”

 

Octavia whirls around. “Christmas break isn’t for another three days!”

 

Bellamy can’t help but feel a little foolish, but is already too far into it. “Yeah, well, I’m pissed off, so ho fucking ho!”

 

He storms out of the Gryffindor Common Room and into the hallway, scaring a few people who past. He can’t help but be slightly pleased by that, stomping through the halls until he reaches the pathways to the outside courtyards.

 

Chill stings his breath and chest as he stalks through the open air, trying to tell himself that getting upset makes no sense. It’s very much like O to make plans last minute, _and_ he should be grateful she’s making friendships that will be there once he leaves. But there’s something that stings about it.

 

It’s their last Christmas.

 

Sure, it’s not their _last_ last Christmas, but it’s his last one at Hogwarts. It’s the last one the two will have in the same space. He’ll probably have Octavia off Hogwarts next year and they’ll be able to make their own traditions, but this is the last one they have both as students.

 

It’s not long until he’s gotten quite far away from the school, nearly on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He likes walking out here, because it’s close enough to the tree line that most people don’t even try to get close.

 

What he doesn’t expect is a voice close to the lines of the trees.

 

“Here you go.” Someone says warmly and there’s a snap.

 

He startles, pushing back a few branches until the figure comes into sight.

 

Clarke stands at the edge of a pond, surrounded by a handful of thestrals, the animals leaping joyfully around her. She has a bag filled with something that she’s tossing their direction, laughing as they try to sneak a few bites without her knowing. Placing a hand out, she scratches their noses and whispers things to them as they nuzzle her.

 

“Clarke?” Bellamy asks.

 

Clarke startles, nearly jumping and falling over. “Bellamy!” She exclaims, brushing the nose of a particularly pesky thestral aside. “I’m not crazy.” She states.

 

The comment is confusing at first, but the realization hits him. “Oh, I can see them too.” He says. There’s nothing more unsettling then potentially seeing someone play with a creature that isn’t there.

 

Clarke’s eyes widen. “You can?”

 

“My mom.” Bellamy says. “I was there when she died.”

 

“Oh,” Clarke says, eyes downcast. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” Bellamy says, brushing it aside. “It was a long time ago.”

 

“That still doesn’t make it okay.” Clarke says softly. “I’m sorry.”

 

Bellamy isn’t sure what to say to that. He’s heard a million ‘I’m sorry’s’ in his time, and not a single one has made him feel better. But there’s something about the way she says it that makes him _feel_ it, despite having heard is so many empty times. “Thanks.” He states, surprised in that he means it. “You know they seem to really like you. You’re, like, the commander of death or something.”

 

“Not funny.”

  
Reaching out, Bellamy scratches the chin of one of the thestrals, causing it to coo and lean toward him. “They aren’t that bad,” he says softly.

 

“No, they aren’t.” Clarke agrees. “They’re just misunderstood.”

 

Bellamy pets the one who is content to lean against him, marveling at how a minute ago he was in somewhat of a rage. Something settles in his chest and he simply feels better. Peering at Clarke, he summons the courage to ask, “What about you?”

 

She sighs and her eyes water. Bellamy regrets asking it immediately, a part of him wanting to take it back. In fact, he almost does when she answers. “My dad.” She says softly, not looking him in the eye. “Actually, it’s why I moved here in the first place. My, uh, dad passed away. My mom didn’t want to stay in France anymore, so we moved.”

 

“She just took you out of school? Like that?”

 

Clarke shrugs. “I don’t care, honestly. It stopped feeling like home once my dad…” She swallows. “You know, sometimes a new change of scenery is good. I spent my entire life travelling because of my mom’s job, so that part wasn’t new. It helps, when you’re feeling… alone.”

 

Bellamy isn’t entirely sure what to say. A small part of him feels like he’s dropped in a landmine field, but his chest aches. “Yeah, I get that.” He states. “I bet you’re looking forward to seeing your mom over break.”

 

Clarke huffs a hollow laugh. Without warning, a tear falls and she manages, “Actually I’m not going home.” She states, scrubbing her tear aside. “Wherever that may be, these days.”

 

“What?”

 

Clarke smiles at him, but her chin trembles. “Well, it’s like you said. My mom’s a Master Healer. She’s working over break and it made more sense for me to stay here. At Hogwarts.”

 

“You’re staying in the school? The year your dad died?” Bellamy repeats, incredulous. Then he plays it in his head and groans. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I—”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Clarke says. “It’s fine.”

 

“You should celebrate with me.” Bellamy says, the words pouring out of him before he can stop himself.

 

Clarke freezes where she’s petting a thestral. “What?”

 

Bellamy winces. “I mean, uh, if you want to.” He follows sheepishly. “Octavia just told me she’s going to a friend’s house for Christmas and I’m going to be here. So if you, uh, want company, we could spend Christmas together.”

 

“Really?” Clarke asks.

 

Bellamy tries to ignore the part of him that makes him feel like Clarke sounds _hopeful_. Or even worse, _excited_.

 

“Yeah. I mean, the house elves are really great to all the people who stay behind – they make your favorite dish so you have something that cheers you up. And even though they’ll deny it, the professors make stockings for all the students. And you really can’t beat Hogwarts in the snow. Oh – and they also let you go to Hogsmead if you want, without a chaperone, if you’re over fifteen. Which we both are.”

 

“Which we both are.”

 

Bellamy feels a pit of nerves because he doesn’t know what she’s going to say. The tension he felt the night of the Hufflepuff party is back and he’s replaying everything he just said. “I mean, you don’t—”

 

“That sounds wonderful.”

 

Bellamy is taken aback. Sure, he offered without thinking but a part of him didn’t expect her to actually agree. Once she does, he can’t help but beam, unable to keep any ounce of cool he once had. “Yeah?”

 

“Yes.” Clarke states. “That sounds really… nice.”

 

“It does, doesn’t it?” He says, focusing on the thestral.

 

The two don’t say anything for a while.

 

It’s what he appreciates about Clarke. She doesn’t feel the need to fill in gaps with words.

 

Some moments simply are, and that’s enough.

 

***

 

Saying goodbye to Octavia is more painful than he expected. Even she gives him a tearful hug, whispering in his ear that she doesn’t want to go anymore. He holds her, clutching her shoulders and saying, “Don’t worry, O. I’ll always be here.” Before letting her go off with a family he doesn’t know.

 

It’s bittersweet and more than a little painful.

 

He tries to cheer himself, but there’s really nothing that will do the trick. He spends the majority of Christmas Eve wandering around the castle, trying to tell himself that he doesn’t care as much as he does. It unsuccessful and he ends up doing nothing more than making himself more upset than he already is. When he reaches the Dining Hall by the end of the day, there are so few still at Hogwarts he can count them all on one hand.

 

Except Clarke is there.

 

She’s seated at the edge of the Slytherin table by herself. There are very few Slytherins who stay over break – in fact, Bellamy’s willing to bet that Clarke may be the only one. So, without thinking of it too hard, Bellamy decides to forgo the Gryffindor table entirely and plants himself across from Clarke. “Happy Christmas Eve.” He says, unable to make himself sound anything but bitter.

 

Clarke looks up from the book she’s writing in and smiles. “Happy Christmas Eve. Although, I’m not loving it in the same angry, aggressive way you are.”

 

“Yeah, well, this is how I show love.”

 

“Angry and aggressive?”

 

“Shocked that you didn’t know this already.”

 

“A girl can dream.” She says, shutting her book. “Are you doing alright?”

 

“I’m awesome. My sister decided to spend Christmas with another family on my last year at Hogwarts and I’m stuck at a table with a Slytherin who likes to call me an idiot.”

 

Clarke doesn’t respond. He expects her to bite back because that’s what they _do_ , but when she doesn’t, he wonders if he’s mis-stepped. But he doesn’t apologize because he can’t bring himself to, the words get lodged in his throat.

 

Bellamy picks at his food, his sadness slowly filtering out. He appreciates that she doesn't pry, Clarke in an equally somber mood. 

 

"We're a pair," Bellamy finally sighs, shoving his food away.

 

"Yeah, the most chipper people you'll ever meet." Clarke snorts. "Dynamic duo."

 

"We could fight crime."

 

"Paralyze people with unending sadness."

 

"Okay, you're bumming me out, Griffin." Bellamy sighs, shoving his food away. He thinks of Octavia and their teary goodbye, something rotten settling in the pit of his stomach. He tries to shake it, but finds he can't. "You know what? Fuck it." Standing up from the bench, Bellamy says, "It is Christmas Eve. We are young and stupid—"

 

"Speak for yourself."

 

"—and we should be doing young and stupid things!" Bellamy exclaims, not even giving Clarke the time of day with her comment. "We shouldn't be sitting here, feeling sorry for ourselves. There's one thing that always makes the holidays better?"

 

"Minor vandalism?"

 

"Drinking!" Bellamy pauses. "Woah, you kicked it way more intense than I was ever planning. You got a dark side there, Griffin?"

 

"I am in Slytherin."

 

"True."

 

The snow is falling outside and there's something new that strikes him. He's feeling alone and homesick for his sister, but there's also an opportunity here. "Okay, what about this? I still have some fire whiskey in my dorm room and some snacks from the last Honeydukes trip. Why don't you grab some blankets and whatever you have and meet me in the Astronomy Tower in twenty minutes? And we'll have our own Christmas party?"

 

Clarke chuckles, but then it falters when he waits for an answer. "You're being serious."

 

"Why would you think I wasn't?"

 

"You want to go drink in the Astronomy Tower?"

 

"Most of the Professors are gone! There's no one here! What's the worst that could happen?"

 

Clarke doesn't respond right away. She looks at him, suspicious, like there's some grander plot that she can't quite see. He supposes there is, but it's not what she thinks. So instead he waits calmly as she settles whatever argument is within herself. 

 

"Okay," she says slowly, drawing out the word. "I have a few treats my mom sent from the road. I haven't been able to eat any of them, but they look good."

 

He can't help it - a smile stretches across his face. "Alright then. You grab those, grab some blankets. I'll grab my whiskey and other things. And we'll meet in twenty."

 

"We'll meet in twenty."

 

Bellamy turns and walks out of the hall before Clarke - or himself for that matter - can convince him it's a bad idea. However, the closer he gets to the Common Room, the more his sorrow filters out and is replaced with something new - something exciting. He does wish Octavia was here, but then again, maybe his first instincts are right. Maybe it's good she finds herself a group of people to be with when he's gone. Octavia has never been the easiest to make friends with, but he's glad she's starting to find someone.

 

Once he gathers everything he needs, he peeks around to make sure no professor follows him and sneaks to the top of the Astronomy Tower. By the time he gets up there, Clarke's already sitting on the ground with a blanket laid out, a few parcels tucked at her side. "How did you beat me up here?" He asks, leaping over the last step. “Isn’t the Slytherin Common Room in the Dungeon?”

 

She's leaning back on her elbows, moonlight shimmering in her hair. There's something otherworldly about this girl sitting before him, made of stardust and mystery. Reaching in her pocket, she pulls out her wand and points to the ceiling.  _"Perspicuum."_  She whispers and the slates of the roof seem to melt away. Snow falls around them and Bellamy waits for it to reach them, but it never does.

 

"Did you just make roof transparent?"

 

"Just from our vantage point. That way if anyone's walking the grounds, they won't see."

 

"And the snow?"

 

"Sometimes snow slides." Clarke says mischievously. “It’s not my fault that it happens to be sliding down the building as to not obstruct our view.”

 

"Okay, you are officially terrifying." Bellamy says, squatting to sit down next to her. He stretches his legs out and Clarke pulls her bag from beside her and throws a blanket at him. Then, pulling a bowl out, she whispers something under her breath and small blue flames illuminate in the bottom. "Why do I get the feeling you could murder someone and no one would know?"

 

"Because if I'm going to be a murderer, I definitely won't be a sloppy one."

 

"Yeah, that doesn't make me feel any better." Bellamy mutters, wrapping the blanket around his legs. She laughs at him, sitting up to face him. "So," He coughs, pulling out the bottle of whiskey from his own bag. "It may not be terrifying magic, but it'll do the trick."

 

He pours one in a chipped glass that he took one evening from the Great Hall, and then another in a tin can that him and his roommates use to play drinking games with. He keeps that one. Handing the glass to Clarke, he holds it out. "Happy Christmas, Clarke."

 

"It's not Christmas yet, Bellamy."

 

"Give it time."

 

Chuckling, she takes a sip and blinks. "Wow. That's not messing around."

 

"Only the best for a Princess."

 

"You have  _got_  to stop calling me that."

 

"You know, I don't think I will." Bellamy grins. "Especially since I know it bothers you so much."

 

"You are impossible."

 

"You should really look in the mirror before you say anything like that."

 

Snorting, she crosses her legs and faces him. He mimics her, not able to keep the smirk off his face. "So, I have an idea that I think I may regret later." She says.

 

"My favorite kind of idea."

 

"Never have I ever." Clarke says. "The best way to get to know someone."

 

"Never have I ever?" Bellamy repeats. "What kind of Beaxbatons bullshit game is that?"

 

"That—" Clarke starts, incredulous. "That's not a Beaxbatons-specific game. It's..." She heaves a sigh. "I think you and I got off on the wrong foot. So you say 'never have I ever,' and if you  _have_  done it, you take a drink."

 

"I'm about to get very drunk." Bellamy snorts.

 

"Why do you say that?"

 

"You just seem... sheltered." Bellamy shrugs. "I can't imagine that you can say you haven't done that I haven't as well."

 

Clarke's eyes narrow. "Never have I ever jumped to a conclusion about my Potion's partner and then created a detrimental relationship that could've been avoided."

 

Bellamy scowls. "That's unsportsmanlike." He grumbles, taking a swig of his whiskey.

 

However, with a smirk, Clarke takes one as well. "We're on even playing field."

 

"At least you're honest." Bellamy laughs. "Okay, never have I ever gone to school outside of England."

 

Clarke makes a face. "Now who's targeting someone?" She asks, taking a drink. "The whole point of this is to get to know each other, not see how quickly we can get each other drunk."

 

"Why can't we do both?" 

 

Rolling her eyes, Clarke states, "Never have I ever been on a boat."

 

"Really?" Bellamy asks. He takes a drink before launching into, "I would've figured you'd love the water."

 

"I do, I've just never been on a boat. I've always wanted to though."

 

"You know, if you give Filch a couple knuts, he'll look the other way if you row on the lake."

 

"You're kidding."

 

"It's how I nearly died in my fifth year. We'll have to do it one time. Just so you can say you've been in a boat."

 

"That sounds nice."

 

Bellamy can't help but smile to himself, suddenly struck by the amount of intimacy that surrounds the two of them. He wouldn't consider himself a shy person, especially when it comes to women, but right now he feels as nervous as the party. There's something about her that makes him feel like he's in a different world, with different stakes and lifetimes.

 

"Alright," he coughs, trying to move past whatever shifted. "Never have I ever stolen anything."

 

Clarke eyes him. "You're joking."

 

"I am not."

 

"I don't believe you."

 

"Griffin, I am a moral, upstanding citizen!"

 

Clarke tentatively takes a drink and Bellamy wags a finger at her. "I knew it!"

 

"Shut up."

 

"It's always the ones you least suspect."

 

"Listen, I stole something from one of my Beauxbatons Professors when they took something unfairly from a classmate."

 

"Thief!"

 

"They wouldn't listen and then said they wouldn't give back a book their  _father gave them_  until the end of the year!"

 

" _Thief!"_

 

"Yeah, whatever, no regrets." She says.

 

Somewhere along the line, the game breaks down. He has to hand it to Clarke, it is a nice way to get to know her. She's surprisingly funny and outgoing; once the whiskey bottle starts to lessen, the two leaning into each other closer as if to share secrets. After a while, it even stops being weird that it's not weird. He moves closer to her like they've been friends for ages, but simply in a different lifetime.

 

The whiskey warms his toes and at some point the two find their way to the floor of the Astronomy Tower, facing the sky. He watches the snow fall above him and is very aware of Clarke next to him. It feels like there’s a energy between the two of them, something he wants to capture and never let go. "Why do people go after Octavia?" She asks quietly, once the two have settled and Bellamy's last story of how he and Miller met fades away.

 

Surprisingly, Bellamy doesn't bristle. The protectiveness he usually feels for Octavia flares up, but not at Clarke like he'd expect. "Octavia is a Muggle born."

 

"And you're not?"

 

"Half." He states. "My mom's a muggle, but dad isn't, as far as I’ve been told. He didn’t stay around long, something about not really wanting to be with a Muggle. My mom ended up getting pregnant with O with one of her own, but Octavia showed signs of magic too. They had to pull her out of muggle school, practically hide her from the neighbors because they thought she was so weird. She basically was an outsider all growing up because she showed signs much earlier than most muggle-borns, which made us realize my mom was actually a Squib. But we couldn’t afford any magic prep-schools, she basically remained hidden until she could get to Hogwarts. But… that means that she’s never been great with people. She ended up getting in a lot of fights because she didn’t really know what to do. Which made people not like her all that much. When it came out she was a muggleborn, some Slytherins had a field day with it. It’s kinda stuck, even though she’s calmed down.”

 

“Well, if your mother is a Squib, doesn’t that make her a half-blood and you a pure blood?”

 

“Ah, semantics,” Bellamy sighs. “The fact is, they think she’s less of a person, which is bullshit. I don’t care what kind of parents you have, if you think you’re better because of someone because of blood, then you’d an asshole that I have every right to punch. And she’s my sister, so I’d argue I have even the right to kill.”

 

“I get that.”

 

Bellamy blinks. Turning his head, he faces her. “Wait, really?”

 

She turns as well. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I think that?”

 

“I dunno,” Bellamy says. “You’re a… Princess!”

 

“That was unkind.” Clarke drawls with a chuckle. “I would like to think that you’d be able to see past my privilege and know I want to use it for good.”

 

“Brave,” he says.

 

He could lean in.

 

He could do it. It would be the easiest thing in the world.

 

Except it feels _big._

 

Once he crosses that line, whatever the outcome is, he isn’t sure how they could ever go back to this moment.

 

So he swerves.

 

“What about your dad?”

 

Clarke, who was looking at him with sparkling eyes and moonlight, dims. He almost regrets it when she turns back to the face the falling snow around them. The transparency spell dripped all round them and all the walls are gone. It’s like they’re on their own planet, away from everyone else.

 

“My mom, dad, and I were always close.” Clarke states. “He is – I guess, was – a great person. He always looked to doing what was right, even if it meant it wasn’t right for us. He always looked at how he could best improve the greater good, even if it meant things would be a little bit harder.”

 

Bellamy’s having a hard time looking away from where she’s staring at the ceiling. A tear slides down her face.

 

“I didn’t want to be here.” She whispers, as if giving him a terrible secret. “I wanted to be with my m-mom.”

 

Bellamy faces the snow. “I wanted to be with O.”

 

Without thinking too much about it, Bellamy reaches out and grabs Clarke’s hand next to his side. She doesn’t even flinch. He feels her fingers shift in between his and lace. He tries to ignore how his heart skips when she does so.

 

After a few minutes, Clarke whispers. “It’s past midnight.” She doesn’t move. “Happy Christmas, Bellamy.”

 

“Happy Christmas, Clarke.

 

The snow continues to fall all around them.

 

***

 

When Bellamy wakes up on Christmas, he’s aware of a few things. One, he’s not in his bed in the dormitory. Two, he’s not in the Gryffindor House at all. And three, there’s a solid figure pressed against him and his arms wrapped around them. Pieces of the evening come back to him, from the drinking to the talking to the silence.

 

After a while, it wasn’t a weird silence. He doesn’t need to fill the air with a stream of words and as it turns out, nether does Clarke. So they spent the early hours of Christmas morning together and reflective. Bellamy never intended for the two of them to stay up there, but between the magicked fire, blankets and whiskey, he simply didn’t want to move.

 

Clarke shifts under his arm and he has a momentary panic. Should he pull his arms away and pretend the two hadn’t been locked together all evening? Should he make some sort of light-hearted joke?

 

Before he can figure out exactly what he wants to do, Clarke peers up at him. “Happy Christmas again.”

 

“Happy Christmas again.” He responds, his voice low and sleepy.

 

She doesn’t seem bothered by any of this, which lets him give a relieved sigh. He doesn’t want to go anywhere himself, but he’s finding himself second-guessing everything when it comes to Clarke.

 

“I felt bad, last night.” Clarke manages, lifting her head.

 

He frowns, going through a laundry list of excuses as to why they’re in such a position. Except she doesn’t pull away, which is confusing.

 

“I said I wanted to be with my mom, which is true.” She continues, not letting him spiral too much. “But, if I couldn’t be with my mom, I’m glad I was with you.”

 

Bellamy blinks.

 

It’s so forward, he doesn’t know what to do with it. He’s not used to someone simply saying exactly what they’re thinking, with no pretense.

 

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Me too.”

 

“I’m glad Slughorn made us Potions partners.” Clarke says softly. “I don’t know how I would’ve handled this Christmas without you. I needed you this year.”

 

He can’t help the ache in his chest when she says those words.

 

He’s been taking care of Octavia for a long time. He’s been without a mother for a _long_ time. He’s been called every name under the sun – most of which, were for things he was proud of – and managed to scrape his way through Hogwarts.

 

But no one has said that they _needed_ him.

 

Something loosens in his chest and he tells himself it’s the snow and the fire and the blankets.

 

“I needed you to.” He says, hoping his words remain as hidden as their sanctuary in the snow.

 

The corners of her mouth pull up and then she buries her face back in his chest, clearly in no rush to move anywhere. He doesn’t mind, because neither is he. In a bout of confidence that he can’t explain even to himself, he takes his free leg and drapes it over hers, trapping her a little closer to him.

 

She doesn’t seem to mind, pressing herself into him further.

 

Laying the side of her face against him, she asks, “What are we going to do today?”

 

Bellamy thinks about this. “Well, we have barely any professors around, barely any classmates. We can go to Hogsmead, we can go talk with the elves about Christmas dinner, we can read, we can walk, I mean… we can do anything.” Leaning his head against the top of hers, he concludes, “Whatever the hell we want.”

 

Clarke snorts. “That is such a Gryffindor thing to say.”

 

“Doesn’t make it untrue.”

 

“Whatever the hell we want, huh?” Clarke asks, tilting her chin up. “I have some ideas then.”

 

“Anything you want, Princess.”

 

***

 

The rest of the break passes by in a deluge that Bellamy doesn’t want to end, but before he knows it, people are filtering back into the school. It startles him how quickly time has passed, a small part of him frustrated by that fact.

 

It’d been the nice Christmas he never expected.

 

He definitely wished Octavia were there and thought about her often, but it was something he never expected. As it turns out, Clarke is as outgoing and adventurous as he is, but tends to like to do things a bit more intimately than in a group. Once she started talking, she wouldn’t stop – flooding him with stories about France or mischief that she and her father used to get into.

 

He would then regale her with stories about he and Octavia growing up on the Hogwarts grounds, having a special permit to stay the summer when their mother passed. Bellamy told her about the time they tried to fly over the Forbidden Forest as a loophole, or the time that McGonagall caught them stealing food from the kitchens.

 

Their entire Christmas was spent in Hogsmead, exploring shops and eating everything they could get their hands on, and then arriving in the Great Hall to eat some more. Then, when the evening was about to be over, Clarke reached into her bag and pulled out a rolled piece of paper and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving.

 

Bellamy unraveled it after she left, pausing when his own face stared back at him, next to Octavia.

 

That’s when it occurred to him that Clarke wasn’t writing in little notebooks, she was _drawing_.

 

It’s a beautiful rendering of the two of them, caught mid-laugh. The charcoal looks like at any moment it could blow away in the wind, but when he runs his fingers down the piece, he realizes that she charmed it with a spell to keep it from smudging.

 

After that, he would find her at breakfast and the two would explore.

 

It was strange, falling in love with Clarke Griffin.

 

It was something never expected, but when it happened, it made sense. Like the planets in the sky spent his entire lifetime jumbling the world up, only to fall in place when he was ready for it. She was the earth and he was the sky; individually, they could create a world, but together they made it a home.

 

Bellamy continued to tell himself he had time to make an official move, so when students started filtering back into the school, he startles. He thought he had all this _time_ , but now everyone is back and he’s sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Clarke, the two of them pouring over a book they found in the library a day ago.

 

“You cannot be actually arguing what you’re arguing.” Bellamy’s saying, his patience running a bit thin.

 

“You’d be blind not to see it.”

 

“You’d be blind to say what you’re saying!”

 

“Blindness doesn’t affect speaking, Bellamy!”

 

“Oh my god, you are so infuriating! I can’t—” Bellamy pauses. “Wait.”

 

Clarke sits across from him, her arms crossed on the table. It’s obvious now that she’s trying to hide a smile, but failing miserably at it.

 

“You.” He says, eyes wide and gesturing at her. “You are messing with me.”

 

She doesn’t speak.

 

“I can’t believe, get over here—”

 

“Big brother!”

 

Before he can do anything else, there’s a very solid body leaping on his back. “O!” Bellamy exclaims, managing to get out of the seat and turn to grab her. Wrapping his arms around her, Bellamy squeezes his sister tightly.

 

“I missed you!” She whispers, holding him a beat longer than they normally do. When they part, she beams, “I’m so glad to see you.”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

There’s a rustling noise behind them and they turn, Clarke getting out of her seat. “Oh, Clarke—”

 

Clarke puts her hands up. “Oh my gosh, don’t worry about it. Catch up. I’ll see you in Potions tomorrow.”

 

“But—”

 

Before he can get another word out, she says cheerfully, “It’s good to see you Octavia. I hope you had a Happy Christmas.”

 

“You too Clarke,” Octavia says a bit suspiciously, watching the girl leave. Facing Bellamy, she demands, “What did I just walk into?”

 

“Nothing, O, tell me about your Christmas—”

 

“No, no, no.” Octavia states, cutting Bellamy off. “I want to hear more about the entire Christmas vacation with the Slytherin.”

 

“Octavia—”

 

“Come on! I haven’t seen you in a week and that’s the longest you and I have ever gone without seeing each other! The least you could do is tell me all about your vacation with Clarke—”

 

“O, you are such a menace!” Bellamy exclaims with his arm wrapped around her shoulder.

 

The two drift into easy conversation, Octavia bending and telling him all about her Christmas with what seems like a kind family. Bellamy gives her the highlights, but keeps the details to himself. Not only are they private, but a part of him wants to keep them at Christmas. A time that was solely his and Clarke’s, and none of the rest of the world.

 

After a few weeks, everything goes back to normal. Without an empty school and endless time, Bellamy doesn’t see Clarke as much as he would like and he’s having a hard time finding excuses to do so. The Quidditch team is eating the majority of his free time, especially after handily defeating Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff in the preceding matches and making it so Gryffindor is back in the running for the House Cup.

 

The only major difference now is that he looks forward to Potions. He looks forward to having two hours sitting next to Clarke, easily arguing back and forth with each other and sharing details. Everything lulled into a comfortable stroll in his last year, although there was something in the back of his mind telling him that he needed to do something before he lost the opportunity.

 

Bellamy is mulling this over one day when there’s a crack and a very familiar yell. Without thinking, Bellamy sprints toward the noise, pushing past several students until he sees the same group of Slytherins surrounding Octavia, who has her wand out and in a defensive position.

 

“Get away from me!” Octavia exclaims.

 

“I’m not going to let a stupid mudblood keep making us lose points!”

 

“You lose points yourself!” Octavia snaps. “It’s not my fault you’re not doing the spells correctly.”

 

“Listen here—"

 

Without even asking, Bellamy pulls his wand out of his book bag and shouts, _“Stupify!”_

 

One of the Slytherins on the outside of the huddle flip over and lull unconscious. The group startles at the attack, facing Bellamy. “Of fucking course, here’s Blake!” A spiny kid named Dax snaps. “Now we’re going to have to kick the ass of two Gryffindors.”

 

“You better back the fuck up,” Bellamy growls, taking position next to his sister. “He won’t be the last be unconscious.”

 

“Yeah, Blake? You better watch out.”

 

Before Bellamy knows what’s happening, Dax utters, _“Serpensortia.”_ And a thin, menacing snake emerges from the end of his wand. It settles itself before the two of them, taking a moment to collect itself before raising to strike.

 

Bellamy pushes Octavia behind him as the snake tenses, wand out. “Octavia, go.”

 

“Bell, no—”

 

“What is wrong with you guys?” A sharp voice cuts across the two and Bellamy flinches to see Clarke stalking her way through the crowd that was forming around them. With a quick flick of her wand and a whispered incantation, the snake disappears as if it never was.

 

Clarke marches in the middle of the groups, placing her hands up. “Stop being such _idiots!”_ She exclaims. “You’re going to get your asses expelled if you keep this bullshit up!”

 

For some reason, the phrase ‘idiots’ ruffles him. He’s been called an idiot a fair few times by Clarke Griffin, but right now, it sounds lie she’s putting him on the same level as these _Slytherins_. His eyes narrow and hand wraps around the wand tighter.

 

“Mind your own business, Clarke!” One of them shouts. “This doesn’t involve you!”

 

“It does when you’re about to lose all of Slytherin’s House Points and get expelled. Seriously, _enough_. How does this story end? These stories never turn out in favor for the assholes who bully other people!” Clarke snaps. “And if you continue to do it, you will always be those guys who were the bullies in school.”

 

“Is there a problem here?”

 

Professor McGonagall emerges from one of the hallways, crossing her arms and eyeing the group of them. A few of the Slytherins mutter “No, of course not, Headmaster.” Bellamy can’t bring himself to lower his wand, though. Every part of him feels like he’s on fire with anger, and he’s having a hard time getting through the fog of it.

 

“Then I suggest you go to class. Otherwise someone may think otherwise.”

 

The Slytherins scurry away as soon as it’s clear she’s not going to give them detention, nearly tripping over themselves to flee the area. Fortunately for Bellamy, the kid he knocked unconscious slowly is waking up, and despite McGonagall raising an eyebrow, she doesn’t say anything.

 

The woman makes her way through the hall, calling, “Everyone, get to class now!” As soon as she commands, everyone scatters.

 

Clarke turns to face him.

 

He still has his wand out and hand braced behind him to make sure Octavia is alright. Octavia has settled, but he’s still on edge, as if anyone would come and attack him and his sister.

 

Clarke’s wearing her Slytherin robes, eyes soft.

 

But all he sees is green.

 

“You guys alright?” She asks breathlessly, her body slumping.

 

“No thanks to your lot.” Bellamy seethes, unable to push his rage down.

 

Logically, he knows Clarke had nothing to do with it. Logically, he knows that just because she’s a Slytherin, doesn’t mean that she’s like the people targeting his sister.

 

Except his adrenaline is coursing and he’s _pissed_ and he wants someone to take responsibility for what they’re saying.

 

“I’m sorry?” Clarke asks, taken aback.

 

“Bell—” Octavia warns behind him.

 

“No,” Bellamy snaps. “What the fuck is wrong with you Slytherins? Do you think we’re jokes? Do you think that we all are beneath you?”

 

“‘You Slytherins?’” Clarke repeats, her tone wavering. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You know that they are targeting O. I _told you_ they’re targeting O.” Bellamy shouts, unable to stop himself. “And yet they’re still here, targeting O. What is wrong with you?”

 

Clarke flinches, as if he’s struck her. “What’s wrong with _me?_ ” Clarke asks. “You know that I would never—”

 

“But you’re a part of them!” Bellamy exclaims. “There’s a reason the Sorting Hat put you in Slytherin with them. Because even it knows, deep down, you’re all the same!”

 

Clarke takes a step back, her eyes watering.

 

“Bellamy, stop.” Octavia murmurs, grabbing his shoulder. “Let’s just take a walk—”

 

But he’s angry.

 

He’s angry because it’s his last year. There are only a few more months and then he’ll no longer be on campus. Octavia will be here, alone, and have to deal with the Slytherins by herself.

 

And there’s nothing he can do about it.

 

“I should’ve known!” Bellamy bellows, waving his hands so wildly, Clarke actually recoils. It strikes him that he’s going too far – he would never hurt her – but his anger is spiraling. “I should’ve known you are all the same. You just look for weakness and exploit it for whatever end you want. That’s all you Slytherins are. You are willing to burn the world to the ground to get what you want.”

 

“Bell—”

 

“Do you every wonder why you’ve been in a school for a half a year and _no one_ invited you home with them?” Bellamy snaps, unable to stop himself. “Because, deep down, I think even you realize, that you are selfish. And you collect people to get what you want. This is on _you!_ ”

 

The air stills.

 

The moment the words are out of his mouth and the moment he takes a breath, everything crashes against him.

 

His fear. His anxiety. His deep protectiveness for Octavia.

 

His fear for what his feelings mean for Clarke.

 

Clarke.

 

She stands a few feet away from him, wand in hand and close to her chest. There are tears in her eyes and she’s sucking a few breaths to calm down, her entire face growing red.

 

His anger fades away and is replaced with something darker.

 

Shame

 

Bellamy drops his wand, finally realizing he’s still in his attack position, except facing Clarke. Vaguely, he feels Octavia place a hand on his shoulder.

 

Opening his mouth to take everything back – _god_ , if there was ever a moment he wanted to take everything back – he isn’t able to get a word out.

 

“That was unkind.” She utters.

 

The words hit him harder than anything else ever would.

 

Her eyes flutter shut and a few tears escape and stream down her cheeks. She hastily brushes them aside and shoulders her bookbag. Whirling around, she moves away.

 

“Clarke, wait.” Bellamy says, taking a step toward her.

 

Except he doesn’t get very far. Octavia strengthens her grip on his shoulder before he can go anywhere, whispering, “Let her go, big brother.”

 

For once, Bellamy listens.

 

***

 

The next few weeks go like this: Bellamy pours all his energy into Quidditch and not biting people’s heads off.

 

He tries his best to give Clarke space, but all he wants to do is to fix it, but he doesn’t know how. He knows that he attacked her in the best way he knew how – that’s the danger of getting close to people.

 

You know exactly how to break them.

 

Bellamy thinks about that day every night before he goes to bed. He thinks of the anger that coursed through him. He thinks of the panic that he felt. And the fear of the future.

 

He also sees Clarke’s face. He sees her tears. Watches her face fall.

 

Watches Christmas disappear.

 

Which is how Bellamy finds himself on the Quidditch pitch, alone, a week after the incident.

 

He’s running drills by himself the best he can, having nearly bit the heads off his own team only hours before. Even Miller pulled him aside and said he needed to get a grip, but he couldn’t help it. Everything was too much and he was feeling _too much_ , and somehow his perfect final year of Hogwarts was turning into a disaster.

 

Bellamy lands softly onto the Quidditch field, broom in hand, the sun slowly setting in the distance. Even his gloves aren’t helping him with the chill, his fingers frozen against the broom wood. He sighs, pressing the handle of his broomstick against his forehead, wishing there was a way he could get his hands on a time turner and prevent himself from saying anything he did.

 

There’s no time turner, there’s no answer.

 

“Oi! Asshole!”

 

Bellamy startles at the noise, looking up from where he’s standing. A figure is storming toward him, hands clenched at his sides. By the time that the figure is close enough for him to figure out who it is, they already have their arm cocked back and are swinging.

 

Bellamy can’t do anything in time – Murphy’s fist is already connecting solidly against his face.

 

He almost falls over, he’s so surprised. But he remains on his feet, his fists up on instinct. “What the hell, Murphy!”

 

“You know why!” Murphy exclaims, swinging again.

 

Except this time, Bellamy’s expecting it. He ducks the punch, ramming into Murphy’s side so the two tumble to the ground. With surprising speed, Murphy scrambles on top of him, cocking his fist back and swinging against his face. Bellamy sees stars and then Murphy’s face is _there_ and he struggles to get back on his feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bellamy cries, shoving him back.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with _you_?” Murphy shouts, bracing himself. “I thought you were supposed to be filled with honor and courage, or whatever bullshit you Gryffindors taut. But you’re just a dick!”

 

Bellamy takes a step back to put some space between Murphy and himself, frowning. “What are you even talking about?”

 

“How do you not know?” Murphy exclaims. “I’m talking about Clarke, you prick!”

 

Bellamy freezes. “Don’t you dare use Clarke for some bullshit mind games for Quidditch—”

 

“Dude, fuck Quidditch for like two seconds!” Murphy shouts. “Who gives a shit about that? I’m talking about Clarke and whatever bullshit grudge you have against my house!”

 

“Bullshit grudge?” Bellamy repeats. “Bullshit grudge? Your house goes after my sister and you want to tell me it’s a bullshit grudge? I should knock you out!”

 

“You wish, nothing can kill me.” Murphy drawls. “You need to suck up your pride and apologize, because this whole thing is bullshit.”

 

“You don’t think I want to?” Bellamy cries. “You don’t think that I want to tell her that I’m sorry for what I said? I didn’t mean it—”

 

“You totally meant it.” Murphy states. “You’ve been spouting that kind of bullshit since I met you.”

 

Bellamy steps dangerously close to him, wiping the blood that’s falling in his eye from a cut on his eyebrow. “You want to talk about bullshit, let’s talk about how your house has been targeting O since she got here. That you and your fucking blood privilege has been trying bully her out of the school!”

 

“I don’t give a shit about blood!”

 

“Like hell you don’t!”

 

“Dude, _I’m_ a muggle born!” Murphy exclaims eyes wide.

 

Bellamy stops.

 

Out of everything he was expecting Murphy to say, that wasn’t it. Bellamy waits for a punchline that never comes, so he finally scoffs. “Stop fucking around, Murphy.”

 

“You think I’m kidding?” Murphy snaps. “Because there couldn’t possibly be a muggle born Slytherin?”

 

“Of course not!”

 

“Why not? Because muggle borns can’t be cunning? They can’t be ambitious – clever?” Murphy shouts. “Well fuck you then. Because my mom is a grocery store clerk and my dad is a truck driver. And I’m not ashamed of that. I don’t give a shit if your sister is a muggle born. I don’t hate your sister because she’s a muggle born. I hate your sister because she’s a huge dick.”

 

Bellamy recoils a bit. “You watch it—”

 

“No!” Murphy snaps. “Your sister spent her first years treating Slytherins like punching bags – half of her year has at least _two_ stories about it—”

 

“She was still getting used to being around people like her—”

 

“Don’t give me that. You make excuses for her constantly, for every shitty thing she does.”

 

“She hasn’t been starting fights in years now!”

 

“Yeah, well, they’re all still waiting for the other shoe to drop. You can’t expect someone to be super aggressive and then people just to trust them when they finally stop. Listen,” Murphy sighs. “I’m not here to give you shit about your sister. And honestly, I didn’t even _know_ my house was giving her shit for being a muggle born. _I’ll_ take care of that. I’ll make sure they don’t pull that bullshit anymore, if they know what’s good for them.”

 

In that moment, he knows Murphy is telling the truth.

 

There’s something very vicious about Murphy when he wants to be, his eyes glinting in a way that makes Bellamy hesitate. There’s no humor in his voice and he knows that if the Slytherins in his house make any more cracks against her again, they’ll have the full weight of John Murphy – and probably Clarke Griffin – to deal with. That’s not a duo he’d ever want to be against.

 

“I’m here because you need to stop yanking Clarke around.” Murphy states, all aggression gone from his voice. “I don’t know what happened or what you said because she won’t tell me. All I know is that I came back from Christmas break and she was the happiest I’ve ever seen her – and as much as it pains for me to say that, it’s because of you. And now she won’t talk to anyone – hell, it’s like the beginning of the year all over again! It took me ages to get her to open up, and now we’re back to square one and it’s pissing me off.”

 

“You really care about her?” Bellamy asks, unable to stop himself.

 

“Oh, fuck you.” Murphy groans. “Of course I do. Because I’m a Slytherin, I’m not allowed to care about people?”

 

“No, because you’re John Murphy.”

 

To his credit, Murphy smirks. “I so want to kick your ass, but I don’t want to be kicked off the Quidditch team.”

 

Brushing himself off, Murphy jabs a finger in Bellamy’s direction. “Fix it. Now.”

 

“I don’t take orders from you.” Bellamy says, but there’s no heat in it. “And like I said, she won’t even talk to me. I wouldn’t even know how to apologize. I can’t even get her alone to start the conversation.”

 

That same mischievous grin curls on his face. “Sounds like a job for a Slytherin.”

 

***

 

Bellamy drums his fingers against the desk, unable to stop his nerves from getting too wildly out of control. He’s surrounded by various ingredients in the Potions classroom, making him realize that maybe this wasn’t the best setting for him to choose. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, Bellamy tries to keep himself from getting too anxious.

 

Footsteps sound outside the door and Bellamy moves to the side so he’s not immediately in view when they enter. “—why do you need to check so badly?” Clarke’s voice is asking, only mildly irritated. “Did you try _accio_?”

 

“Wow, you know, that never really occurred to me, Griffin.” Murphy retorts. Bellamy makes a face – he can even hear the humor in his voice.

 

“How you managed to survive sixteen years on this planet is beyond me.”

 

“I’m really a cockroach at heart.”

 

“I’ll say.”

 

Clarke opens the Potions classroom door and sighs, placing her hands on her hips. “Now, what was it you lost again?”

 

Bellamy moves out from the side of the bookshelf and he watches as Clarke goes through, the only way he can describe it, as the five stages of grief. It takes her a few moments to regroup, but when she does, she whirls around to see Murphy slamming the door in her face. “Murphy!” She snaps, slapping the door. “What the fuck, Murphy?”

 

“Just hear the guy out, okay?” He calls from the other side.

 

“I’m going to kill you!”

 

“I want to stop caring about your love life!”

 

Clarke pulls her wand out and aims it at the door. “ _Alohamora!”_ She cries, but northing happens. “Murphy!” She shouts, pounding her fist against the door again.

 

“You’ll thank me once you calm down.”

 

“I am never calm!”

 

“I’ll say.”

 

Bellamy waits for Clarke to realize the inevitability of the two of them being stuck there together. Finally, she turns, pressing her back far against the wall, as if she can keep as much space between them as possible.

 

“Clarke.” Bellamy states, unable to stop himself from pouring every ounce of regret he has from their conversation days.

 

“Bellamy.” Clarke says evenly. He watches as her walls go up, ever present as they were when he first met her. Except, watching it now is all the more painful because they were once down and he knows exactly was a gift that is. “Tell Murphy to stop whatever this is.”

 

“I can’t do that.” Bellamy states. “Not until we talk.”

 

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

 

“Clarke, what I said to you—”

 

“It’s _fine_.”

 

“It’s not fine.” Bellamy states. “I was worried about Octavia and I wasn’t thinking – I was angry and scared.”

 

That seems to throw Clarke off. “Why on earth would you be scared?”

 

“It’s all ending, Clarke.” Bellamy states and suddenly the words are pouring out of him before he can stop it. “I’m graduating in a few months and Octavia will be here by herself for the first time. I won’t be able to look out for her and she’s still getting bullied.”

 

“I _told_ you—”

 

“I know you did.” Bellamy states. “I know you said you’d have her back and that you’d have mine. I’m not used to people just… helping. Saying they’ll be there and then actually showing up. And I’m afraid that I’m going to leave Hogwarts and Octavia is going to be all alone.”

 

“She isn’t alone, Bellamy.”  Clarke states, her back away from the door slightly. “And neither are you.”

 

Bellamy flinches at that. “I’m sorry?”

 

“Sure, it’s your last year. And you’re going to do whatever amazing thing you’re going to do. But this isn’t just you and your sister anymore. You have people.”

 

“I know I do.” Bellamy sighs. “I have Miller and the rest of Gryffindor. I have Professor McGonagall and—”

 

“You have me.” Clarke states quietly.

 

When he looks at her, there are tears in her eyes, but they stay put.

 

“Even after everything?” Bellamy asks, his voice husky. He almost is afraid to look at her, but she’s staring at him like he’s the sun and he wants to be it for her. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

 

She gives him a slight nod, pressing herself against the door of the Potions classroom. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Even after everything.”

 

Bellamy sucks in a breath.

 

He isn’t sure what to say. This reminds him of all those moments they had during Christmas break where what he wanted to say was on the tip of his tongue, but he found himself stumbling. Which makes no sense because he is supposed to be a brave Gryffindor. But every time he wanted to tell Clarke what he felt, he knelt to fear.

 

This is not the time for kneeling.

 

“This year was one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had.” Bellamy says without being able to stop himself. “And I didn’t think that was possible with Octavia not around. You made it… feel like home. You make everything feel like home.”

 

Clarke lifts her head and stares.

 

“I don’t know if I missed my chance. Or if you don’t trust me anymore. And I get it if I did. If I did, just say the word and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll get a new Potions partner, I’ll do whatever you want. But if… but if you don’t want me to do those things, I won’t. Because I don’t want to do those things either.”

 

Clarke doesn’t say anything for a while. She’s still pressed against the door, her hands behind her back. He can almost see her mind trying to work through her options, as if her head was warring with her heart.

 

Finally, she pushes herself off the door of the Potions.

 

“Let’s think of this logically,” Clarke states, taking a step forward. “If we remain Potions partners, we’ll be studying together.”

 

Bellamy has no idea where she’s going with this. He stays where he is, is suddenly very aware of how his hands are falling at his sides, and shifts.

 

“And if we study late in the night, there could be the option of repeating what happened in the Astronomy Tower.”

 

“Um, yes?”

 

How is she making him _this_ nervous again? This was supposed to be _his_ time to be the Gryffindor.

 

Clarke moves and then she’s right in front of him, only inches apart. She tilts her head upward, a tentative smile teasing her lips. “Exactly what kind of partners do you want us to be, Blake?” She asks coyly, but there’s a very real implication behind her words.

 

A question he absolutely has the answer to.

 

“Whatever the hell you want.”

 

“Good,” Clarke breathes, placing a hand on the back of his head. “And here I thought it was just me.”

 

Without warning, she closes the gap between the two of them, pressing her mouth against his. He’s so startled – which doesn’t make sense because this was where he was _hoping_ it may go – that he doesn’t react for a second. She almost pulls away because of this, so he places a hand on the small of her back and presses her _closer._ Feeling her pressed against him makes his toes tingle and every piece of him feels like it’s electric and he never wants it to stop.

 

At some point, the Potions door unlocks. When it does, he isn’t sure.

 

After all, they don’t leave for some time.

 

***

 

There’s no rain this time and the sun is beaming down on Bellamy’s face. It’s the best sort of the day for the Quidditch House cup and everything seems to be falling into place.

 

When Charlotte catches the snitch, he can barely hear the screaming around him. Instead, he sits on his broom and gazes around.

 

This is his last game.

 

This is his last time to represent Gryffindor.

 

It’s all coming to an end.

 

A part of him was afraid of this. Afraid of what endings meant. Now he knows, they usually mean something else is about to begin.

 

By the time he lands, the entire field is swarmed in a sea of red. Bellamy lands next to Murphy, who’s lost a bit of his bravado. Extending a hand, Bellamy says, “It was a good game.”

 

Murphy eyes it, as if he’s waiting for Bellamy to do something, which he understands. When Bellamy makes no move to do anything, he takes it. “I really wanted to crush you on your way out.”

 

“The feeling was mutual.”

 

“Big brother!” Octavia exclaims, leaping so she jumps on his back. “We did it!”

 

“Of course we did!” Bellamy laughs. “Did you doubt?”

 

There’s a streak of gold and then Octavia clambers off his back. Clarke manages to slide through the throng of people coming to congratulate him, decked out in green. “I don’t think I can be seen with you if you’re wearing that.” Bellamy says with a smirk.

 

Looking conspiratorially around her, Clarke folds over the collar of her jacket. Pinned on the inside is a bright red and gold button with the worlds _“Blake is Our King”_ emblazoned on it.

 

He can’t help it, it _does_ something to him.

 

Without another world, he grabs her close and kisses her, not caring that everyone is watching. He kisses her because he loves her and he’s tired of being afraid.

 

“You’re such a _traitor_ , Clarke!” Murphy shouts a few feet away, causing Clarke to laugh into the kiss.

 

Octavia moves closer to Murphy. Somehow, Murphy and Octavia reached an understanding, which had to have been due to the sudden lack of bullying in Octavia’s life over the last month. “A traitor who he _loves_!” She shouts back and Murphy groans.

 

Bellamy can’t help it, he’s laughing now too. But he doesn’t take it back. “They’re not wrong,” he smiles, leaning down, brushing the side of her cheek with his thumb. “Although I had kinda hoped that Murphy and Octavia weren't here the first time I told you.”

 

Clarke presses her own hand against his. “I figured as much.” Leaning forward and moving to her tip toes, she whispers in his ear, “Remember, I’m a Slytherin. We’re clever.” It sends a shiver down his spine and then her lips are on his again and he no longer cares that Murphy and Octavia are there.

 

Because the sun is out. He’s won the Quidditch House Cup. His sister will be okay.

 

But most of all, because Clarke Griffin loves him.

 

Sure, the year is coming to an end. But it marks the beginning.

 

Breaking apart, Bellamy wraps an arm around her shoulder and keeps her as close as he can. “You ready, Griffin?”

 

“For what?”

 

“Everything else.”

 

Clarke smiles at him and it’s as if the moon is shining in the day. “Now why would I give that away? I always want to keep you on your toes.”

 

“I told you I have no issue with anything that—”

 

“Bellamy, I’m begging you not to finish that sentence.” Octavia shouts from behind them. “Otherwise I’ll need Madame Pomphrey to remove my ears.”

 

Clarke laughs, burying her face into this jersey. With a smirk, Bellamy calls back, “Then I would definitely cover your eyes, O. Because you are not gonna like what’s happening next.”

 

Clarke bursts out laughing, bright and carefree. It’s a beautiful noise, one that he’s happy to chase now that his Chaser days for Quidditch are over. Clarke leans in. “She won’t, but I have a feeling I will.”

 

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

 

There are some days when nothing can be more perfect than what’s already happened. On this day, the Quidditch Cup making the rounds, Clarke tucked under his arm, and a conclusion that having Slytherin allies may not be _so bad_ , Bellamy realizes this is one of them.

 

So he holds everyone closer. Says what he feels when he feels it. Most importantly?

 

Finally isn’t afraid to leave Hogwarts. After all, he has everything he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Oh my goodness! Firstly, I would like to say THANK YOU @shesomething for such a fun prompt. As you can tell, I got a little out of control because I enjoyed writing it so much.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed your Secret Santa present, and that you are surrounded by love and happiness always. I only wish every kindness toward you, and hope that 2019 is your year!


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